


I Don't Wanna Live (Forever)

by WillPJackson



Series: Not Like a Brother [8]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Clay Jensen/Jeff Atkins (imagined), Depression, Dissociation, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Season 3 Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post Season 2, pre-season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillPJackson/pseuds/WillPJackson
Summary: As Clay tries to cope without Justin, his mental health takes a turn for the worse. Will he find a way of managing his struggles—or will he succumb to his inner demons alone?
Relationships: Justin Foley/Clay Jensen
Series: Not Like a Brother [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1175957
Comments: 56
Kudos: 97





	1. Hindsight, Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've ranted enough about how much I hated season 4 and what it did to the show for me, so it pains me to say that this coming section is probably the most like season 4 of this part of the series. Don't worry, I have no plans on following through with anything like THAT ending, but this is a place I've wanted to go long before season 4 even came out (or season 3 for that matter).
> 
> So, this part is gonna be tough, and it was borne out of an idea that I had way back when around the time I wrote Invisible Boy, but decided to save for later--that month that Clay spent without Justin, and the possibility of seeing things from Clay's perspective. I always thought we would revisit this construct--so here we are.
> 
> This part is also a lot like the show in that we have flashbacks, and a nonlinear story structure for once in the series (yay?). While I don't have the luxury of color-gradient shifts or aspect-ratio changes, I have coded the start of the different sections in a certain way, so I hope by the end of it, things will all make sense.
> 
> I don't usually tag everything all at once because I don't like spoiling the later chapters, so I will say this--this part might not be right for you if you're struggling in ways that Clay is struggling, and it will directly tie into his mental health struggles. The biggest trauma he faces here, really, is the unknown--the not knowing--so I do think there might be some potentially triggering moments to come.
> 
> Do trust, though, that Clay's struggles won't be for nothing.

Clay halts the Prius at the stop sign and turns the corner before he realizes he’s left his phone. He wavers, letting his foot off the gas pedal while gazing at the road before him.

_“FUCK!”_

He decides, _I don’t need it,_ yet as the car slows to a stop in the middle of the street, he’s torn. The hurt and rage bubbling inside his chest makes it hard to breathe, and to think. He spots a car in the rear-view mirror, so he pulls the fuck over to let the asshole pass.

_“FUCK!”_

_How could Justin do this? How could he_ fucking _do this? After_ everything _we’ve gone through?_ How _could he fall back like this?_

Clay slams the steering wheel, and shouts, again, _“FUCK!”_

Regrettably, as his anger vents, the drop in pressure inside his chest gives way to an even more caustic reactant—pain. A sob rips through his faculties, and he collapses against the steering wheel as he’s completely overwhelmed by betrayal.

_I thought he loved me. Didn’t he say that he loved me? How could he do this?_

This put fucking everything in jeopardy—everything they worked for. _If they find out he’s using again…_

_I can’t be without him. I can’t. How could he fucking_ do _this?_

There’s a knock on the window, jolting Clay up from the steering wheel. He looked up to see Scott peering through at him and pull one of his earbuds from his ear.

“Clay?” he called through the door, “What’s going on?”

Sniffling, Clay quickly tried to rub the tears from his eyes and his face. When Scott called his name again, Clay rolled down the window.

“Hey, Scott,” he attempted casually, and failing utterly as his voice trembled. “Wh-what’s going on?”

Scott’s hair was damp and he was sweating through the collar of his lime lycra shirt. Clearly, he’d been out for a run. “Dude,” he pressed.

Clay looked away briefly to rub his nose and sniffle once more. “Sorry,” he offered, “I, um… I wasn’t expecting to see anybody.”

Scott’s expression softened. “I’m...I was pretty much done; just cooling down. You feel like giving me a lift? My dad’s away this weekend, and my mom’s working, if—if you needed a place to chill.”

Clay swallowed. “Yeah, that—that’ll work, actually. I just... I think I need, like, ten more minutes, maybe? By myself?”

Scott offered a sympathetic smile. “Sure, okay. I’ll take another lap, then. But...you’ll meet me at my house, then?”

Nodding, Clay replied, “Sure, okay.”

After giving him one last piteous look, Scott put his earbud back in as he set off.

_How could he do this?_

As his throat began spasming once more, Clay couldn’t keep the sobs in any longer. Consumed by all that Justin had put at risk, he collapsed back against his seat before surrendering completely to the tears.

~ ~ ~

Clay awakens, but he keeps his eyes shut. Even though it’s too bright to ignore the sunlight completely, he turns onto his side, which helps alleviate the pressure on his eyelids somewhat.

_Fuck all._

He’d dipped his toe briefly back into the lucidity of reality that morning without any sun to guide him. His body seemed to insist upon his mind turning itself back on occasionally, despite his wishes. _Too early,_ he’d reasoned; and now, it seemed too late.

_Oh well._ If his body had to keep on waking him, it needed to do a better job with its timing. He’d overshot his mark; and, the comforter still felt too good against his body to give it up, now. Despite being a poor man’s substitute for what he’d lost, and as cruel as it could be to him at times, his bed had become his only true escape.

A few knocks tap at the door. _Pestilence._ “Clay? Honey?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to; _she’ll just come in._ And locking it had become useless. He didn’t need her sobbing on the other side, begging to be let in.

As predicted, Clay hears the door open, and then a few footsteps as his mom enters the room. “Clay?”

“What?” he grunts without moving; he has to show at least one sign of life, or else she freaks out. It’s another annoyance he doesn’t need.

“Honey, I brought you a sandwich. Grilled cheese.” _So, kid gloves, this morning, then._

“I’m not hungry.”

“Humor me, and just take a bite? Please?”

Regrettably, the warm aroma was very enticing. _Traitor._ Why did his body have to insist on sustenance? _You don’t need that much energy to sleep._

“I’m not hungry.”

His mom doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ll—I’ll keep it downstairs for you. I’ll warm it up for you—when you’re ready.”

Clay scoffs inwardly to himself when he hears the footsteps again, and his door clicking shut. _Barely a fight, this morning… Success._

He takes a deep breath, perhaps to get one last whiff of the sandwich, then brings the covers over his head completely to return to the darkness. _Peace._

_If only every morning could be this easy._

~ ~ ~

Clay sat at the couch, letting his leg shake. He got up, glanced out the window, and paced around the den before sitting back down on the couch.

_What the hell could be taking so long?_

He realized he should’ve insisted on coming with her, his mom. Spending the night alone again had been awful, and so was not being able to make the arraignment. Trying to fake it through a school day was fucking brutal, but...hearing that Justin almost plead guilty—that nearly wrecked him. Clay wasn’t proud of what he’d said to his mom the night before, but he was still thankful she managed to talk some sense into Justin. He just hated the fact that she was essentially his only link to him, his…

What was Justin to him, Clay, exactly? His…friend? Frenemy? His responsibility, his secret? His mission, his savior; his…crush? The past few days had completely transformed the way he saw Justin Foley—going from the kid hiding in his room to…to the one with whom he’d shared his first complete…sexual experience? awakening?

He, Clay, still liked girls. He’s always liked them—nearly as long as he’s been afraid of them, too, from his first kiss in seventh grade, which at first was sweet and fruity on his lips…only to sting when he’d found out it had been a dare. _Hahaha, loser Clay Jensen, hahaha!_

_Whatever._ No, seriously, he still liked girls. He loved Hannah, and Skye. Throwing himself at Justin had really just been a dare… _Hahaha, loser, hahaha!_ to see if either one of them would really cross that threshold. _No way. Justin Foley is a total jock, and notorious ladies’ man._ Clay honestly thought it would break the tension, help make his point, and they’d laugh and then just…get on with things.

_“Clay, put your fucking clothes on. I don’t wanna see that shit!”_

But Justin never said that, or never finished saying that. In hindsight, Clay thought Justin had merely been amused, and was looking at him—daring him, Clay, to see how far he’d take things. The thrill of it all had made him, Clay, temporarily insane, so maybe he couldn’t read the expression on the kid’s face for what it was—desire. Clay saw the shock, but he was really projecting his own amusement on Justin. Finally, when things had gotten too far out of hand, and he let out that _please_ … Never in a million years did he think Justin would respond the way that he did. Clay didn’t really believe in a god, but _thank god he did_.

_That night was so fucking liberating._ Years of pent-up desire from a part of himself he never dared express… Kissing Justin, feeling—and seeing him—hard against him…was fucking incredible. Clay had never imagined how hot it would be to experience desire reflected upon himself in that way. In truth, attraction from someone was never something he ever thought he’d experience; he’d only ever feel it for others, but never get it back in return.

He loved Skye, but sex with a girl had always been drilled into his mindset as this…Big Fucking Deal, so the pressure of it all, and with Hannah still in his head, had been too much. _It was probably best we never went all the way_ —or he could’ve fucked her up even more…making it look like he was simply using her.

What he did with Justin wasn’t…sex, but it was sexual, and _freeing_. _But what did it really mean?_ Was it simply just…right place, right time? _You only know how you really feel when you lose it…_

_Fuck that._ He was _not_ losing Justin like this. He _had_ to understand what the kid really meant to him, Clay, and he wasn’t going to find that out like he had with Hannah, or Skye. _Not again._

_Not again._

~ ~ ~

_You can’t be serious. You can’t be serious!_ Why _not?_

_Because he is a minor, he can only be released to a guardian. Without his mother, or any legal adult in the picture, I’m afraid we have few options right now._

_Honey, I’m so sorry. But I assure you, we’ll—_

_THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! This is all your fault!_ WHY _DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS COULD HAPPEN?_

_Clay—this was Justin’s decision to make. If he chose not to tell you—_

_Seriously?_ Seriously? His _decision to make? Since when have you let me make any of my own fucking decisions—_

_Clay, that’s enough!_

_—or not badger me into making the choice_ you _really want—_

_Kiddo, seriously—enough! I get that you’re angry, but lashing out like this now isn’t—_

_Really? Why not? What other fucking choice do we have? This is all a huge fucking mess!_

_Did you not_ foresee _this happening, too? Where we have_ no other recourse _to help him? Of not even being able to get him out?_

_Honey—yes, I did, but—_

_Un-fucking-believable!_

_Clay!_

_Bryce doesn’t even spend one fucking_ _night in jail while Justin—_

_Son—go to your room! Cool—off! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we’ll talk more about this when—_

_Really, dad? Really? So we’re just gonna do_ nothing?

_Honey, I am trying, believe me. We’re going to help him, I promise—_

_Lainie, no, enough. Clay—upstairs._ Now!

As Clay sat on the couch—being grilled by his parents in the living room—he couldn’t help but remark that this had to have been karma for that night after Justin’s arrest. This time was almost a mirror image of that moment, minus the earlier questions from Deputy Standall; he, Clay, had been completely fucking useless, then, too.

_It…was a car? A—a black, car…_

_It was a four-door—black sedan. Late nineties or early two-thousands, my best guess. It had a California plate, beginning in U-P-6, or U-B-8, but I honestly couldn’t see the rest…_

His mom had let the deputy leave; obviously, she didn’t want the police around while he, Clay, was about to potentially incriminate himself. He tried to find some solace in that fact as he came clean about what really happened with Seth…and as he tried not to crumble when both his mom and his dad started shouting at him. He didn’t have anger as a shield this time, and both of them ganging up on him like this…made him feel like the little shit that he was; he deserved this.

“You, you met a drug dealer— _own your own?_ And you _paid him off?”_ His mom was nearly shrieking by the end of it.

His dad had simply yelled from the start. Him yelling was always worse; it had always gotten to Clay more. “Jesus _Christ,_ Clay! Have you seriously learning _nothing_ at all!”

“How could you _agree_ to put yourself and your friends at risk like that!”

“He was a wanted man, for Pete’s sake! If he showed up at school, reporting him right then and there was your best chance, my _God!”_

Both of his parents continued shredding into his woefully stupid plan. Clay could say nothing back because…they were absolutely right. _They scammed us_. All Clay could do was bury his face as shame burned him everywhere and try—desperately—not to cry. He wasn’t looking for pity. He didn’t fucking deserve it. Still, however, it hurt like hell…knowing he, Clay, had put the love of his life in harm’s way.

“What on earth were you thinking, Clay?” his dad demanded. “What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

Shaking his head, the pressure inside of him becoming too much, Clay sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I’m sorry…” His parents fell silent. When they didn’t say anything else, he went on, “Justin—was terrified for his mom. He _begged_ me—not to go to the cops, he was so worried for her.”

“So even when you didn’t find her,” his mom pressed, “you _still_ didn’t report it?”

“She left a note,” Clay replied, letting go of his face, but keeping his head low as he bit into his fist. “Justin recognized her handwriting. We, we didn’t think she was really hurt… I—I really thought she just got away.”

He braved looking up at them. Neither of them looked like they were about to relent. “We really thought Seth just wanted the money. He told us as much. We—we really thought this was all over with. I really thought this was behind us.”

Clay felt the pressure becoming too much again. “I—I thought I could handle it,” he began, but his voice started to break. “I thought—the money was enough. I thought—I really thought…” The sobs overtook him, and he couldn’t continue; only weep.

“You shouldn’t have hidden this from us,” his mom insisted.

“You should have come to us,” his dad echoed.

“We could have helped you. We—we could have protected Justin.”

“I know,” Clay wept, “I know…”

Finally, _finally,_ his mom sat beside him. When she reached out to hold him—he threw himself into her arms and sobbed freely against her. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, “I’m so sorry…”

She embraced him back tightly. “They’ll find him, honey. They won’t get far.”

Despite her words, Clay couldn’t bring himself to stop crying. He had… _gravely_ miscalculated. He had gotten all of this—so fucking wrong. If he, Clay, couldn’t see through this…how could he realistically expect things to turn out in any way other than—than the worst possible outcome?

Clay just couldn’t shake the feeling…karma wasn’t done with him, yet.

~ ~ ~

The view is vast and…breathtaking. Water stretches all the way to the horizon beneath the moonlight, still as a mirror. It’s quiet, but not silent; the wind whispers through the cables supporting the bridge against gravity.

_We all fall down._

Icarus wanted to fly. The sensation had to be overwhelming. _Were we ever meant to fly?_ Humans always seem to want to stretch beyond their reach. _Forces and counter-forces; equal and opposite reactions._ Why is everything always a struggle against something else?

Potential energy. _The higher you are… It is astounding_ there is literally a measurement for everything.

Gravity is the weakest force. _Weak_ … _a mind-boggling order of magnitude._ It is the easiest force to overcome; yet it always seems to win. A tiny stream will carve massive canyons…with enough time.

Time…another controversial concept. Does it truly exist, or is it just a construct to view our universe? To look at the stars in the sky is to see a definition of _now_ that is…utterly meaningless. _Now_ is really millions and billions of years ago because even light has a measurable speed…and it takes _time_ to travel. The moon as seen _now_ is, in truth, eight minutes in the past. _Now_ is never instant; on any scale, there is always some space between two points…

The view is vast and breathtaking…the water below stretching all the way to the horizon. It is still as a mirror beneath the moonlight, and quiet, but not silent, as it is coaxed gently by the wind. It whispers against gravity…

_We all fall down._


	2. The Party's Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay has to break the news to everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another note that we'll be jumping around--a lot.

Clay was holding on by a thread when his dad reminded him about the party—and how it needed to be called off. _How disastrous would it be for everyone to show up in the middle of this mess?_ He evaluated the scenario and quickly concluded his dad was right…at least until he went upstairs to grab his phone—and ended up picking up Justin’s, instead, by mistake.

Zach  
 _You got this, bro_

Sheri  
 _Good luck today! Ur gonna rock it_

Jess  
 _don’t stress_

Jess  
 _today will be ez pz xoxoxo_

Scott  
 _Rock on today, dude_

Scott  
 _Oh BTW, see you Saturday ;)_

Clay choked on a sob as he put the phone back on the nightstand. Justin was taken so suddenly, the kid didn’t even get the chance to _put on any fucking shoes._ Clay went around the bed to grab his phone and took a deep breath as he unlocked it and navigated to the group chat that _excluded Justin_ and it stung hard as he, Clay, wondered how long he might have to use it. _This is fucking awful._ He didn’t want to send out that message—he didn’t want to have to inevitably explain _why_ the party was off and… _fuck, why did I agree to this party in the first place?_

Because his mom was totally sappy and Justin _would have fucking loved it._

Sniffling, Clay typed up the message—and hit send.

_The party is off._

He threw the phone back on the nightstand and tossed himself on the bed. Barely a few moments later, as he’d anticipated, the phone started rattling against the fixture. Reluctantly, Clay reached over to see why it was ringing; Tony was calling. He put it back down and lay back in bed, only for the cursed device to begin rattling again; this time, it was Scott. Clay silenced the phone…only for Tony’s name to appear on the screen again with another call, and he capitulated, swiping across the screen to answer.

“Dude,” Tony spat, his annoyance practically dripping through the earpiece, “what did he do, now?”

Clay bit back tears; his best friend, _seriously_ , gave him, Clay, way too much credit. It would have been way easier to do this in person, and do it just once…even if it majorly and needlessly inconvenienced everyone else.

_No…you fucking asshole._

“Clay?” Tony pressed.

“They scammed us,” he finally breathed.

“What?”

Clay took a deep breath before running through the horrible events of the morning.

“They took him, Tony. It was all a ruse to get the money and—his mom was in on it. This whole time. She was never in any danger.”

Tony was speechless. “Shit,” he eventually sighed, “shit. Are you okay? Your parents?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. They, they didn’t hurt us. My dad had already called the cops while he was upstairs, but…they didn’t get here in time.”

“I take it—you told them everything.”

“No,” Clay corrected, “I, I didn’t. My—my mom knew there was more to it, but she let Standall and the other cop and Dennis leave before she—she really drilled into me.”

“Dennis, the—the Bakers’ lawyer?”

“Yeah, he—he was going to come with us, today, too.”

“What did you tell them?”

Clay cleared his throat. “I told them everything,” he sighed. “But—but don’t worry, she’s—she’s going to leave you and Caleb out of this, believe me. She knows how to handle the police.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but…” Tony trailed off.

“But what?”

“I know this is an uncomfortable question to ask, but—if this was all really a ruse, and his mom was in on it this whole time—do you think it’s possible that, that Justin knew, too?”

Anger burst inside of Clay, singeing his face. “Are you _fucking_ serious, dude? _No!_ What the _fuck?_ How could you even _ask that?”_

“I dunno, Clay, I dunno,” Tony offered quickly. “This all just seems so fucking crazy.”

“How could you even _think_ Justin would go along with something like this? And _for what?_ Just for, for a _few grand?”_

“Well, he did manage to hide his using from you…”

Clay scoffed a bitter laugh. “Fuck you, Tony. Seriously, _fuck_ you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tony let out. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking. This all just seems so fucking elaborate… I—I’m sorry.”

“Justin was fucking devastated that night,” Clay went on. “There’s _no_ fucking way he knew about any of this.”

“I stand corrected,” Tony insisted, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Clay. What, what are you thinking, then? Have you been able to piece together of any of this?”

“I don’t know.” Clay sighed. “I don’t—know. Justin has said things about his mom like, like she’s a manipulator, that she can be conniving, so maybe—maybe she _was_ behind all of this.”

“But she didn’t just want money,” Tony said. “She wanted Justin, too. And somehow got Seth to play along with all this.”

“I don’t know, Tony. I don’t fucking know. I just—I need him back, right now. I need him back, safe. That’s all I fucking care about right now.”

Tony was quiet for another moment. “They won’t get far,” he soon said. “However smart Justin’s mom thinks she may be, I’m sure they’ll slip up.”

Clay’s phone buzzed against his ear, and he looked to see more texts coming through.

“Can you do me a favor?” Clay said.

“Yes, anything.”

“I’ll—I’ll forgive you, for being such an asshole, if you explain this to everyone else. Please. I, I really don’t have it in me, right now.”

“Absolutely. Done.” Another pause. “I’m sorry, man. I, I was in shock. I shouldn’t have jumped to any fucking conclusions.”

They said goodbye, and Clay hung up the phone before slamming it back on the nightstand. _Fucking hell._ The thought didn’t even come up with either of his parents when he went through everything with them. _How could Tony even…?_

_No. Fuck that._

Justin loved him. Clay knew it, and believed it with all his being. _Amber Foley is behind all of this,_ Clay was sure of it, even if he yet had no direct evidence for it; even if was all circumstantial. It was the only thing that made sense…even if it all didn’t make complete sense, yet.

_Fucking hell._ Clay looked over at Justin’s phone. He reached for it, stopped himself—only to take it in his hand with another grab. He unlocked it and started scrolling briskly through all of Justin’s messages before locking the phone again and slamming it face-down against the bed. _What am I doing?_

Clay picked up the phone once more and unlocked it one more time to find nothing out of the ordinary within the message threads, then turned to the mail app and scrolled briefly through all the unread e-mails. _Jesus, Justin._

There was nothing to be found. Clay shut off the screen and put the phone back on the nightstand. _Justin will be back soon. They’ll find him, safe, and then we’ll have all the answers._

He needed Justin back above all else. Because… _fuck all else_. Justin was taken— _he didn’t go with them willingly. He was trying to protect us._

Clay looked at Justin’s phone again briefly before ripping his gaze back towards the ceiling above him…towards the poster of the galaxy above him. _Fuck,_ he needed Justin back, and soon.

He couldn’t bear to think about all the dark places Justin might end up…

Or…all the dark paths he, Clay, himself, might take…

~ ~ ~

It was looking like another one of _those weeks_. First, the Bakers asking him, Clay, to speak at Hannah’s service. And then…the other bombshell.

_I’ve spoken to your father, and I think we have a way of finally getting Justin out. But—I wanted to run it by you, first._

_Seriously—anything, mom. It’s been_ way _too long already._

_How would you feel if we—adopted Justin?_

The question had floored him; and, it was certainly another moment he, Clay, had to add to his already long list of Un-proud Moments.

_Is that…is that the only way?_

_No, but it would lend significant credence to our other efforts in securing his release—to show that we intended to provide a stable home for him, ourselves._

_And dad’s okay with this?_

_Yes._

_So… But, this—this wouldn’t be temporary; like, a temporary thing, right? This would be for real. Like—forever. Right?_

_It would, yes._

Looking back, that might have been what had thrown him for a loop the most—the sudden, significant commitment of it all. He wanted Justin back more than anything, but… _this is forever, we’re talking about, here._

Clay had very nearly said no, _we can’t do this,_ but he then thought back to _that night_ in front of Bryce’s house, and then to everything they’d shared in just those few days—and then to the sight of Justin behind that plexiglass window, the kid only able to communicate through that damn telephone—and Clay suddenly felt an absolution, a clarity, he wouldn’t understand until much, much later.

_Let’s do it._

That was the moment he realized—he needed Justin Foley in his life no matter what; no matter the cost, no matter the price—he, Clay, would pay it.

He already knew too well what it meant to have to live a life without someone. Upon closer reflection, Clay realized, it wasn’t so much the adoption itself that had astonished him. In truth—it was the prospect of a life without Justin that had palpably and immeasurably scared him in that moment…scared him beyond anything else that he’d ever faced. He didn’t want to know what it would be like to have to live a life without Justin. He just _couldn’t._

Who could’ve known that moment would end up being so…

_Prescient._

~ ~ ~

Clay starts the car, checks his rear-view mirror, and slowly pulls back onto the street. He turns the corner, then proceeds up the road to Scott’s house. Thankfully, the house was empty when he went back to get his phone, but being around when Justin and his parents got back was an unbearable prospect.

He, Clay, parked along the road, sighed, then slowly got out of the car before trudging up the driveway. He wasn’t _absolutely_ certain that Scott wasn’t just being nice earlier, but _I’ll find out in a second, here._ Clay knocked on the door, which opened mere seconds later.

Scott gave a nod of his head in greeting before gesturing Clay inside. “Hey, come in!”

Clay stepped inside, glancing around briefly while Scott shut the door. The guy had clearly showered, his hair still slightly damp, and had changed into a white tee and jeans. He looked back at Clay, and they gave each other sheepish smiles before Scott forced a laugh.

“Yeah, no bloody Monty on the couch, this time,” he said. Making for the kitchen, he went on, “You want anything?”

“What do you have?” Clay asked, following him.

“Well,” Scott began, pausing before the kitchen, “if you’re _thirsty_ ,” he clicked his tongue, “I don’t have anything stronger than OJ. _But_ —I do have some cheesecake leftover from yesterday if you’re hungry.”

Clay scoffed. “Do I _look_ like a drinker to you?”

“Hey, come on, now,” Scott insisted, spreading his arms wide. “You know what they say, judging books by their covers, and all that.”

Smiling, then letting out a chuckle, Clay said, “Very true, very true. I could just go for some water, actually, thanks.”

Nodding, Scott went over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a glass before bringing it to the dispenser at the fridge. “You have—drunk, before, though right? Jeff mentioned he managed to get you to a party, but—not if you actually drank.”

Clay suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, I have; I did. Not really a fan, if I’m honest.”

“The party, or drinking?”

“Both.”

Scott brought him the glass of water. “Well, alcohol is an acquired taste.”

“Thanks,” Clay said, accepting the glass. “Not one I’m looking to acquire, really.” He took a sip.

They went to the living room, where Scott offered Clay one of his Xbox controllers. “Feel up for some co-op? There’s this level that’s really pissing me off.”

Clay chuckled. “I can’t believe you never played Portal Two.”

“I’ve corrected my mistake!” Scott chafed, sitting beside him and powering on the TV. “Better late than never, no?”

Grinning, Clay went on, “Man, it’s been years, but I think I know the level you’re talking about.”

Scott loaded the game and they started to play. He seemed competent enough as they started, but Clay could only become more amused as they went along when Scott seemed unable to grasp the more advanced mechanics of the game needed to survive Portal 2 co-op.

“Hit the button hit the button _hit the button!”_

_“_ I’m _trying!”_

When Clay’s avatar got crushed for the fifth time, Clay burst out laughing while Scott looked supremely chastened.

“Scott,” Clay said with a grin, “you suck.”

The guy pouted, then laughed before letting out a sad whine. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s why I don’t have any friends.”

Clay sobered his expression as Scott’s shoulders fell and he looked genuinely saddened for a moment. Xbox Live friends, he’d meant. _Or did he?_ Clay patted his shoulder. “I’m your friend. I’d add you, but, I don’t have an Xbox.”

Scott looked at him and smiled. “Thanks, Clay,” he said, and they laughed.

They played on for a while longer, and persistence paid off when they finally made it to the end of the level. They both let out whoops of success and Scott stood up, fists raised to the ceiling. _“Finally!_ Hell yeah!” He offered his hand to Clay, and they high-fived.

“You were definitely far nicer and more patient than any of the people I tried to play with online,” Scott said.

“Ugh,” Clay grunted, “I can imagine. People are such assholes online.”

“Assholes, period,” Scott offered.

Clay looked over at the piano on the other side of the living room. “So,” he went on, “I did notice it the last time I was here, but—obviously—didn’t get a chance to ask about it. Do you play?”

Scott looked over at the piano, too. “Yeah, I do. Or, I did, really. I took lessons since I was a little kid up until high school.”

“Why’d you stop?”

Shrugging, he replied, “I just—I didn’t really have time for it, anymore.” He sat back down on the couch. “I, I think, when my dad got his new job, and we had to move, it might’ve been when my parents really...started having their issues.”

Scott shrugged again. “I dunno, maybe it was earlier than that. Anyway, I mean, we didn’t have to move far, but it was enough that I had to change schools, and it sucked at the time, ‘cause my mom didn’t want me to change schools, either. She thought Liberty was too sports-focused, but then I met Jeff and, I thought, why not just—go with the flow?”

“Did she make you take piano lessons?” Clay asked.

Grinning, Scott replied, “She _was_ my teacher, at first.”

“Oh,” Clay said, and they laughed.

“But yeah,” Scott continued, “I got into it. I enjoyed it.”

“I play guitar, but I never had lessons or anything like that; just self-taught.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve dabbled in a little guitar, too.” Scott smiled.

Clay smiled back. “When was the last time you played?” He tilted his head towards the piano. “Can you play me something?”

Scott stood and made for the piano bench. “I mean, I still play, every now and then,” he said, settling before the upright. He lifted open the keyboard cover, then started dancing his fingers across the keys in eloquent scale patterns with both hands to warm up.

Clay stood up and walked over to lean against the wall beside the piano. It was definitely in tune, still. When Scott stopped, Clay said, “Can you play,” only to draw blanks. _I don’t know any piano pieces._ “Play me something famous.”

Scott burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah, _that_ certainly narrows it down.”

Feeling his face burn, Clay let out, shrugging, “I don’t know! Play me something I’ll recognize.”

Chuckling, Scott shook his head as he gazed at the keys for a moment. “Well, I’m pretty sure everyone knows this one.”

He started off respectably, at a moderate pace, before going completely—amazingly—bonkers with both hands. Clay knew the tune immediately and nearly cried out to ask for the name, but was mesmerized at Scott’s hands blazing so many notes in such a short period of time.

Scott cursed, then smashed the keys, though, abruptly. “Ugh, damn it, I fucked that up.”

“Dude!” Clay insisted. “Holy shit, that was incredible! What is that?”

Laughing briefly, Scott replied, “It’s Liszt. Hungarian Rhapsody, Number Two.”

“Oh.”

Scott chuckled. “AKA, the famous circus music.” He started to play again. “How about this? You know this, right?”

Clay recognized that iconic half-step interval pattern that began in the right hand and was accompanied soon afterwards with arpeggios in the left.

“Yeah, of course. That’s—Beethoven, isn’t it?”

“Correct,” Scott confirmed, playing on. “But—the title?”

“Um…” Clay, again, drew blanks. “Für—Für Elise?”

“That’s right!” Scott exclaimed. He played on for a bit before switching to another piece. “You recognize this one, too?”

He began a somber, slowly arpeggiated minor-key melody that Clay also immediately recognized.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s also Beethoven, isn’t it?”

“Yup. Piano Sonata Number Fourteen, in C-sharp minor—the Moonlight Sonata.”

Clay listened to him play. Hearing it, then, and seeing it live, before him, struck differently at that moment. The melody was so simple…and yet, so haunting. It drew pain and sadness right from deep inside of him and he, Clay, struggled to contain the sob that nearly escaped him. He looked away, sniffling, in a vain attempt to hide his reaction from Scott.

His friend paused, and Clay forced himself to look back at him. “Don’t stop,” he insisted.

Scott gave a half-shrug. “That’s, uh, all I remember. I gotta fish out the music from somewhere.” He kept his gaze on Clay, however, making no move to get up. “Do you, do you feel like telling me—what had you so upset, earlier?”

Clay inhaled deeply, sniffling again before forcing a laugh. He wiped away the tear that fell down his cheek. “Oh, man—you, you sure you want this on you, too?”

“Yeah,” Scott affirmed, nodding, “I do. It’s the least I owe you, frankly.”

Clay leaned against the wall completely, letting his head hit the plaster behind him as he gazed towards the ceiling.

“It’s Justin,” he sighed. “He’s...he’s using, again.”


	3. The New Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay gives a tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, by now, I hope it's clear there are multiple story threads happening; there will be at least two that directly relate to prior events in the series, and of course the present day.
> 
> I'm planting more seeds here because, if I'm honest, I'm not sure how exactly the new seasons will come into play later on with future works, so I'm trying to leave myself with options down the line. I'm thinking, from this point forward, if it doesn't necessarily happen or is mentioned in the series, then it doesn't happen--regardless of what happens on screen. Despite the overall shitshow that is S4, and largely S3, too, there are moments I still really like...

Clay trudges out of the house and steps into the car. Once he’s inside, and he looks over at the empty passenger seat beside him, it spawns an unsettling burst of turmoil inside of his chest. He sighs, then pushes the engine start button to turn on the car before setting off.

_How can I do this, mom? How do I just—keep going, like everything’s normal?_

_We just—we have to keep up hope. I know nothing is normal right now, but he will be found, Clay. They’ll catch them. I’m certain of it._

It had been well over forty-eight hours…well over forty-eight hours when the likelihood, statistically, of kidnapped and missing persons returning safely drops—and staggeringly so. He, Clay, had barely slept, so he’d lacked the willpower and energy necessary to argue his mom down into letting him stay home for the day.

_There’s no reason right now to stop everything, honey. There’s nothing else we can do. I know this is hard, and I’m worried for him, too, but—we just need to keep going. That doesn’t mean we_ stop _while we wait for news._

There had been no leads; no sightings. His mom had shared with Deputy Standall the location of Seth’s storage unit, which the deputy had passed along as an anonymous tip. Alex had also texted him, Clay, that they were starting an IA investigation into Seth’s possible contact (or inside man) within the police department.

_My PD “privileges” have officially been revoked, though,_ Alex had texted.

Jess had been texting him, Clay, too, asking if there were any updates. He understood; she was probably freaking out, too…more so than her texts had implied.

Clay tried not to dwell on the infinite possibilities as he drove to school; his mind had done enough of that to make him nearly insane over the past forty-eight hours. After he reached the Liberty High lot, he parked, let out another sigh, and grudgingly started making for the main entrance.

“Clay!”

He looked to see Jess trotting up to him. “Hey,” he greeted as she caught up to him. Jess regarded him sympathetically. “How are you doing?” she asked, grasping his arm.

Clay shook his head as he gave a prolonged shrug. “I’m—doing; that’s all I can really say, right now.”

“Yeah,” Jess sighed, “I think I know exactly what you mean; dumb question, I know.”

“It’s okay, really,” Clay assured as they stepped inside the school. “I get it.”

“Alex tells me they haven’t had any leads, but his dad has pretty much cut him off now.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that, too, to me.”

They stopped in the hallway not far from the entrance. Jess gave him a grave look. “I mean—they _couldn’t_ have just disappeared, could they? Someone has to have seen _something._ He’s been on the news, now! They showed his mom and Seth. Could no one really recognize them by now?”

Clay felt that turmoil starting to bubble over inside of his chest. “I don’t know,” he breathed, “I honestly don’t know.”

Jess sighed, then reached out to embrace him. Clay nearly broke, but managed to hold it together as they embraced.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “They’ll find him, Clay—safe. He’ll be back in no time.” They parted. When Clay could not respond, Jess went on, “I’m here, if you need anything, okay?”

Managing a nod, Clay uttered, “Okay.”

He went on to his locker, and then to homeroom. Clay was prepared for the day to pass, essentially, in a blur, but before he could really enter his waking dream state, Mrs. McCormick startled him from his thoughts.

“Clay Jensen! Principal Bolan.”

He barely noticed the girl leave the room, the one who had given Mrs. McCormick his summons. He felt a surge of anxiety rush through him as the English teacher brought him the note; _holy shit, was this it?_ Clay gazed at the paper before him, then accepted it, before packing his things and stepping out of the classroom.

As he went down the hall, he read the note again and again—only for it to make less sense with every take. _Why am I being called to the principal’s office?_

_Oh shit, this is bad, this is bad._

_No, it’s too soon. It’s not what you think._

_This is really fucking bad…_

Clay took a deep breath, and braced himself as he walked into the admin offices. He spotted Courtney by the door, who greeted him.

“Hey Clay!”

“Hey…Courtney,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry to pull you out of class.”

Clay felt his breath hitch. “I thought it was Principal Bolan.”

“Oh, no, I just used one of his slips,” Courtney corrected, shaking her head. “It’s our turn for the new-student tour. I have an appointment in the career center in _five_ minutes and the Wellesley recruiter’s only here for a day, so can you take it?”

Clay nearly laughed, but when he was ready to speak, Courtney perkily said, “Thank you! _Thank you!”_ before spinning around to step promptly towards the girl behind them.

“Ani!” When the other girl spun around, Courtney said, “It was nice to meet you,” before they shook hands.

“You, too.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Courtney uttered another _thank you_ to Clay on her way out of the office.

Clay regarded Ani briefly as he tried to recover from his whiplash. She had short, pretty hair, and he dug the outfit she had on, but Clay couldn’t help venting his frustrations as he watched Courtney leave. _Fuck, I_ do not _need this right now._

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…”

Ani stepped up to him. “I—don’t really need a tour…”

Clay offered her a flat smile before starting to walk out of the office, too. _May as well get this over with…_

Ani followed him back towards the main entrance, where he went over the general layout of the building from there.

“This is—the trophy case,” he said, pausing before it, “and we actually have many more academic decathlon and robotics trophies, but,” Clay started onwards again, “they’re kept in the math and science wing, which is in an _entirely_ different building—to keep the main student body from being infected by something like _actual_ knowledge.”

They proceeded down the hall. “Oh, to your left is the classroom of the ironically named Mr. Champion, who—stares at girls’ breasts while he’s talking to them.”

Clay looked towards the posters on their right. “These are posters for the drama club. We actually—have the most low-key drama club, anywhere. They’re totally not annoying people at all; the drawback being their plays are super boring but…really, nice—people.” He shrugged slightly.

“Library’s out that way,” he went on. “It’s a—pretty _typical_ library, as high-school libraries go, which means underfunded—and thoroughly devoid of any book that could be remotely controversial.”

Realizing they were near his locker, he walked towards it, presenting it. “Oh! This is _my_ locker, which I sometimes use to—stick my head into and scream.”

One of the jocks down the hall from them suddenly slammed another kid into the lockers. Clay recognized the larger kid from the football team.

“What the fuck?” Clay called, storming towards the two of them. “Hey, leave him the fuck alone!” He shoved the football player off the smaller guy.

“Hey,” Clay demanded, giving the jock another shove, “I need you to _step off_ —and leave him alone, you _got it?”_

The jock seemed amused. “Dude, that’s my brother.”

“Oh. Um…” Clay, feeling himself deflate slightly, quickly let out, “Well—so the fuck what? You should _still_ leave him alone! Brothers should _take care_ of each other!”

Clay went back towards Ani and offered a polite smile before walking past her to continue the tour. _Well, that was embarrassing._ He overheard her say, “I, I told him no coffee before the tour, but…” and Clay couldn’t help smiling genuinely to himself.

They went on, stepping out towards the fields behind the school. “They call this the back quad,” Clay explained, “even though there’s no _front_ quad, and _back quad_ sounds like ‘backwad,’ which sounds either like, a wedgie, or a roll of fat that shows when your shirt rides up…

“Football and soccer field down there,” he went on, gesturing. “Baseball field out there; clearly, the nicest parts of the school, because…athletes—are our heroes,” he shrugged, “and deserving of everything they want, including the ability to sexually assault girls, and never suffer any sort of consequences, because—why should they?”

Clay paused to take in Ani’s expression, and he swallowed, literally, to try to, figuratively, contain all the _shit_ suddenly boiling over inside of him.

“Um…sorry,” he began, forcing himself to look away. _Just get on with it._ “Uh, cafeteria over there,” he continued. “Um, I bring my lunch.” He shut his eyes briefly. “That’s not a—commentary, on the cafeteria food; that’s just a…nugget from my life.” He forced himself to breathe, and tried to nod away the train wreck of his emotional state.

“Wow,” Ani finally said. “I’ve been to, like, five high schools in three years—and that is by far the _worst_ tour I’ve ever been given. The absolutely worst.”

It stung, for sure, but Clay still couldn’t help liking the way that she spoke…like she could criticize him _(justifiably so, in this case, of course)_ and he’d agree with whatever she said.

Letting out a sigh, Clay offered, “I’m sorry. It’s—still kind of a _weird_ time here. And I’m—kinda dealing with something right now, but—you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Ani smiled at him. “That’s quite all right.” Her smile brightened. “It’s also, like, my favorite tour _ever.”_

_That_ he did not expect. _What?_ “Well,” he almost scoffed, “thanks?”

Clay managed a small smile back at her. Of all the things he didn’t expect, he didn’t think she’d actually…try to make him feel better?

~ ~ ~

Clay made it to lunch after the rest of the day dragged on, and excruciatingly so. Zach sat with him, and they commiserated together over Justin’s disappearance, not unlike his conversation with Jess that morning.

“He’s gonna turn up,” Zach insisted. “Justin’s smart. He’ll find a way to get out, get help.”

Clay tried to appreciate what Dempsey was trying to do; he really did. None of it was helping, though, in truth. _Why the fuck can’t I be as optimistic as everyone else?_

In yet another surprise, he looked up to see the girl from his “tour” approach their table. _Ani?_ Had he, Clay, seriously not scared her away? _How in the world…?_

“Hey,” she said, hovering before them with her tray. “You don’t mind if I join, do you? I feel like you’re more or less obligated to be nice to me, at least for the rest of the day.”

“Because you’re new?” Clay asked.

“Or,” Ani countered, “because on my tour, you— _assaulted_ a guy?”

“Say, what?” Zach squealed.

Clay glanced towards Zach before gesturing for Ani to sit. “Sure, have a seat.”

“Wait, that was _you?_ ” Zach cut in, then laughed. “Luke mentioned some kid flipping out on him randomly but—Clay, dude, are you sure you’re all right?”

Scoffing, Clay insisted, “Look, I—he, he shouldn’t have been pushing him around. That’s all I’m saying.”

Zach turned his attention towards Ani, offering a hand. “Zach.”

“It’s a pleasure, Zach,” Ani greeted warmly, shaking his hand in return. “So,” she went on, “tell me about Clay. He—internalizes, doesn’t he?”

Zach laughed. “Oh, man—”

“You _literally_ just met me,” Clay interjected, slightly offended, “how would you know that?”

Scott came up to their table and sat beside Ani. “Hey,” he greeted them all as he sat, setting his tray down and taking off his backpack.

“Scott, Ani,” Clay went on, “Ani, Scott.” _Anything to change the subject._

“Pleasure,” Ani echoed, and Scott grinned at her. “You know,” she continued, looking back towards Clay, “for a sour-puss, you have—loads of friends.”

“Scott—is my friend,” Clay countered. “Zach is—more of the friend of my…a kid who lives with me and my family, Justin.”

“Ouch,” Zach said, flashing a grin.

Scott glanced between all of them. “They’re—adopting him, actually. Clay’s family.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” Ani remarked. _“Clay_ believes brothers should take care of each other.”

As Zach and Scott chuckled, Clay blurted, “I need—ketchup,” and shot up from the table. He overheard Scott begin to say something else, but Clay had gone too far to hear what he said.

When Clay reached one of the condiments stands, he lingered beside it, unsure if he shouldn’t just simply leave the cafeteria…and, quite frankly, the school grounds entirely. He wasn’t sure what to make of Ani, but he couldn’t handle her being so…inquisitive, at that moment.

He understood it; she was, clearly, trying to make friends. However, nothing at all seemed right to him, with Justin being gone, so he, Clay, couldn’t be sure if he actually wasn’t just misreading everything and getting everything wrong with the haze of uncertainty that loomed above him, all around him—and was suffocating him.

_Just keep going,_ his mom had said. Clay aimlessly grabbed some packets of mustard and headed back to the table, where, luckily, Zach and Scott worked in tandem to keep Ani preoccupied, and to prevent her from peering in too closely at Clay for the rest of the period. It was her first day at Liberty, and she didn’t need to be subjected to the drama of his, Clay Jensen’s, life.

_Even if that drama might swallow me whole before the day is up…_

~ ~ ~

Clay was at his locker after the final bell of the day when Jess found him again.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey,” Clay echoed, putting one of his notebooks away in his locker.

“Can I ask you something?” Jess clutched her physics book to her chest. “Not—Justin related, although I _have_ been pretty much worrying about him all day.”

“Same; yeah, no worries. What’s up?”

Jess pursed her lips. “Do you think I should run for student-body president?”

Clay regarded her in surprise. “How’d _this_ come up?”

“Well, I was at the council meeting today where they were trying to vote on this BS ‘unity assembly’ Bolan was trying to push and…”

She sighed. “Have you noticed how, even after Bryce and Monty, things have barely changed around here when it comes to all the jocks?”

“I haven’t?” Clay responded. “But—I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve been paying attention that closely.”

“I get that. You’ve had a lot going on. But—most of the jocks _clearly_ haven’t learned a thing. Girls are _still_ getting harassed. Monty going to jail might have put a dent in some of the worse instances of bullying, but on all other fronts—the athletes are still walking around like they own the school.”

Clay sighed. “Honestly, that _doesn’t_ surprise me at all.” He shut his locker. “I guess that makes sense—why Justin’s been waffling on joining the football team.”

“He’s been thinking about joining the football team?” Jess asked.

They stared at each other for a moment as an implicit understanding passed between them—at how they both had been out of the loop in different ways.

“Zach says he’s been trying to turn that around,” Clay went on.

“Well, whatever he’s been doing—it’s not enough,” Jess said, shaking her head. “There was this new girl who came up to me after the meeting, and she said some things to me that—really got me thinking.”

Clay started to nod. “Lemme guess—Ani, right?”

Jess gave him a look. “How’d you know?”

He managed a slight grin. “I had to give her a tour of the school this morning—after Courtney sprung her on me last minute. She’s— _interesting.”_

“Yeah,” Jess agreed, smiling, “she is. She said I was ‘ready to explode,’ and that I’ve got ‘power I’m finally ready to use.’ What do you make of all that?”

Clay nodded again. “I think Ani makes—really striking observations that are…pretty on point,” he admitted. “I think it’s a great idea. You should definitely run.”

Jess giggled, then reached out to hug him. Clay laughed as they embraced, and Jess exclaimed, “Oh thank God!” They parted, and she went on, “I’ve been in such a haze the whole day, it felt so weird making any major decisions at all.” She flattened her smile. “And—I might’ve already agreed to let Ani be my campaign manager.”

Clay chuckled. “Wow, she—definitely knows how to establish herself.”

“Right! I mean, I’ll admit, my first thought to was to ask Justin what he thought, but of course…” She sighed, then cleared her throat. “Well, I figured you would be helpful because you’d be more critical in your opinions, anyway.”

Clicking his tongue, Clay said, “I think he would also support your decision. And, I agree, if anyone’ll make shit happen around here—it’s you.”

Jess regarded him with surprise. “Wow—coming from you, _that_ really means a lot.” She hugged him again, and Clay realized, this was probably where Justin got it from. “He’ll be back, Clay,” Jess continued, “Justin will be back, and we’ll all be laughing about this before we know it.”

They parted again, and she gave him one last sympathetic look before saying goodbye and heading back down the hall. Clay swallowed, again, in another seemingly vain attempt to contain the bitterness that dripped down the back of his throat. _Yeah, he’ll be back…like he’s just on some_ fucking vacation _ending in two days._

Clay began walking to his car, and pushed the thought away. Jess was trying; so was Zach, Scott, and everyone else. The number of sympathetic looks and inquiries from people he’d gotten throughout the day would’ve been sweet…if they hadn’t been so fucking annoying. _How are you holding up? Any news? How are you doing? Do you know if anyone’s found something?_

God, _how many times did I have to answer the same stupid questions?_

It had probably been useless to try to keep his drama from Ani, anyway. She likely would’ve pieced together by now exactly what was going on with him, Clay, and who Justin really was to him. He made a mental note to prepare to see a lot more of her because, clearly, she didn’t give up.

Clay found Tony waiting for him in front of the Prius. His best friend raised his hands.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask stupid questions.”

At that, Clay couldn’t help chuckling. “What’s up, Tony?”

“I needed to talk to you, is all.”

“About what?”

Tony let out a sigh. “Have you thought any more about my—theory? The one that made you nearly bite my head off?”

That rage flared inside of Clay’s chest again. _What the fuck?_ “No,” he spat, “why would I? It’s fucking ridiculous!”

Tony spread his hands apart. “Look, I’m _not_ saying Justin doesn’t love you, or anything like that.” He stepped towards Clay. “Just, just think about it, for a sec—think about your own mom: could you turn on her? Could you turn against her, or throw her under the bus? If she came at you, and _begged_ you with everything she had?”

Clay hesitated. His own mom…as annoying and nosy and controlling as she could be… He started to see what his best friend was getting at.

When Clay didn’t say anything, Tony went on, “I bet you Amber Foley has been fucking him up his whole life. That’s— _not_ just something you can get over in, in just a few days.”

“What’s your point?” Clay grunted, shifting the strap of his backpack slightly.

“My point,” Tony insisted, “is that I know you, Clay. I know what it’s like when you start falling down your Clay-hole and—I really, _really_ don’t wanna see what this’ll do to you if Justin doesn’t return in a timely fashion.

“And yes, he will return—notice how I said that. I just—don’t think it’ll be as quick as everyone says it might be.”

Clay felt that tightness pierce his chest again as he tried to swallow. “You think—she’ll manipulate him, or brainwash him, into doing what she wants?”

Tony grasped Clay’s arm briefly. “I think—if the police don’t find them, it’s gonna be a real fight. Probably his hardest one yet.”

He gazed at Clay. “That’s why—you’ve really gotta brace for this, Clay. You’ve got to take care of yourself for the long haul. There’s nothing you can do for Justin right now—other than take care of yourself—so that you’re still in one piece when he makes it back.”

Sniffling, Clay looked away, but started nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah—you’re right; you’re right. I get it, I do.”

Tony gently backhanded his arm. “Besides—one of us is probably going to be breaking his legs, anyway, when he does—depending on what he has to say for himself.”

Clay burst out laughing. “Yeah, true. Very true.” He gazed back at Tony, then reached out to hug his best friend. “I love you, man,” he, Clay, breathed.

Tony embraced him in return, patting his back. “I love you, too,” he affirmed. When they parted, his best friend added, “You need anything—day, night, whenever—you call me, text me, whatever—all right?”

“All right; I will.”

“I got my phone off silent for you, Clay.”

They said goodbye, and got into their respective cars. Clay took a moment to steady himself, letting out a deep breath, and he realized how grateful he was for Tony Padilla, his best friend. He managed to cut through the fog like no one else had, and Clay found himself buoyed with an odd sense of clarity as he turned on the car and started driving home.

Justin would be back. His boyfriend was gonna be okay.

If he didn’t, if he wasn’t—Clay was gonna kill Justin himself…because any other possibility was patently absurd. Thus, he, Clay, didn’t need to worry about that outcome.

Justin was gonna be okay. He’ll be back.

_Or else._

~ ~ ~

The view is so vast and breathtaking…the water below extends so far to the horizon that it almost seems enough to be the equal and opposite force to oppose the bridge; the _Yin,_ and _Yang._

But—are they truly equal…the bridge, and the water? The water would exist without the bridge, and the bridge could exist without the water. The water—simply _is,_ while the bridge is a solution to a problem; one answer in humankind’s endless endeavor to shape the world as they see fit.

Humans push; nature pushes back. Action, and reaction—the story of everything…since the beginning of time.

Time; does it really exist? Time is relative; it doesn’t just bend to the perception of one’s vantage point—it _literally_ bends to the forces of the universe like everything else.

Namely, that force is gravity. Forces are the _how_ of everything, how particles stay together, and how those particles influence each other. Particles and waves…the two main ways of knowing the observable universe. Light is the often the only way of knowing at such vast distances; it is also perhaps the ultimate Yin and Yang…the ultimate duality. Light is both a particle, _and_ a wave.

So many things are more than what they innately are. Water allows for life, but it can also take it. Water is life, and also death. Particles and waves; particles within waves.

_We all fall down._


	4. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay makes a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for potentially distressing imagery.

Clay runs up the street and only sees Scott’s car in the driveway. He takes it as a sign to keep going…mainly because he isn’t sure he can turn back without collapsing.

_I’m going out for a run._

_Oh, honey, we—_

_Justin went early already with Zach to start their workout._

_Fitness is—suddenly all the rage, now?_

Clay sprints up the hill to Scott’s front door and rings the doorbell. After two seconds, he starts banging on the door, and Scott finally answers a moment later.

“Clay?”

He’s gasping for breath, and barely able to speak. “He’s gone, he’s gone…”

“Who?”

“Justin!” Clay manages, on the verge of tears. “He’s gone!”

~ ~ ~

Clay has to go back quite a bit to explain it all to Scott. He starts from _that_ night at Bryce’s house, but leaves out the more intimate details of how close he’d gotten to Justin; he, Clay, didn’t quite think the guy needed to know _all_ the details in order to make his point.

“So, yeah. That day Justin nearly OD’ed, but thankfully, Alex was there. My parents found out, and things kind of—blew up. My mom went to stay with my aunt for a while, and Justin ran away again.”

Scott sighed. “Shit.”

“Anyway, fast forward,” Clay continued, “Justin testified, of course, you know, and he got arrested. He pretty much was forced to get clean while in juvie, and long story short—he manages to stay clean for a whole month. When he finally gets out— _the day of_ —he scores, somehow. And he’s apparently been using ever since. Right under my nose.”

“He admitted all this to you?” Scott asked.

“Yeah,” Clay answered. “We—we got into a huge fight this morning, basically.”

Scott blew out a long breath. “So—I take it, this all puts his adoption in jeopardy, is that right?”

Swallowing, Clay nodded, and managed to contain the stinging betrayal that nearly boiled over in his throat. “He lied to me—all this time. He saw what happened the last time and—he _still_ did all of this.”

“When you say you had a huge fight, did your folks find out, too?”

“No; they don’t know yet…as far as I know. He went with my parents to go shopping this morning but I left before that; I had to—to not blow everything.”

Clay shut his eyes briefly, tightly, and leaned back against the wall. “I got _so_ angry, I—I didn’t trust myself to be around him at that moment. And, and I think I might have… I don’t know. Justin was pretty distraught, and it made me realize—he’s probably used to certain things happening when the people around him get angry and…I just had to get out of there.”

“So,” Scott said, “you didn’t actually, like, _physically_ fight, right?”

“No,” Clay confirmed, “but I think he was—he almost wanted it, maybe? I don’t know.”

“I get it, I do.” Scott stood up, and prompted Clay back towards the couch. “Come on.” Clay followed him, and they sat down.

“Sometimes,” Scott went on, “a physical fight is the quickest way to get past things. I’m not saying it’s right, but for people like Justin and…I mean, people like that, I guess, it’s just what they’re used to.”

Clay regarded him for a moment. “Are you talking about Monty?”

Scott exhaled deeply. “Yeah, I am.”

“Was that how he and his dad—got past things?”

“No,” Scott scoffed, “get past things? More like, grit and bear it so his dad tired himself out and didn’t take it out on his mom.”

Clay was quiet for a moment. “Do you think I was wrong to run away?”

Shaking his head, Scott replied, “I dunno. I think you did what you had to do, and that was right for you. I definitely don’t think beating the shit out of Justin would’ve helped either of you, but I think you had a right to be angry.”

“What should I do?”

Scott looked towards the TV, the hung his head. “Shit, Clay, I…I wish I had a better answer for you. I wish I had _any_ answers for you.” He looked back at Clay. “You care about him, right?”

_I love him._ “Yeah, I do,” Clay replied.

Chuckling, Scott went on, “It’s kinda amazing—to see where you two are now, based on where you started.”

Clay couldn’t help smiling a little. “Yeah, it is.”

“I think—I think you’ll figure this out. A way forward.”

“That’s the thing,” Clay insisted, “I have _no_ idea what the right way forward _is._ And for who? Does Justin need rehab more than he needs to be adopted? Or vice versa?”

Scott seemed to think for a moment. “You know, something Jeff would always say to me, when things got tough, is: ‘the only way out, is _through.’”_

Clay let out a brief laugh. “That’s Robert Frost.”

Scott grinned. “Yeah, I know, but I never told him that.” He swallowed, and looked away as an immense sadness seemed to almost overtake him. “Anyway,” he went on, “he’d always remind me of that, and it’s definitely helped me through some things.”

Clay regarded him for a short while. “Do you miss him, still?”

Scott met his gaze. “Yeah, I do.”

“Me too.”

Managing a slight smile, Scott added, “He’d probably be the perfect mediator for this. He’d definitely be able to get you and Justin on the same page by the end of it.”

Clay laughed. “Oh, I have no doubt about that.” He glanced towards the TV, then reached for the Xbox controller.

“You wanna finally finish the co-op campaign?”

Scott beamed. “Yeah, dude! Pizza’s on me, later.” He grabbed his controller, and they continued to play.

When they got stuck on another puzzle, and after a fifth failed attempt, Clay resorted to pulling out his phone to search for a solution online. He was about to search when the notification slid down from the top of the screen and brought him to his messages instead—and he’d started typing, too.

“Ugh, damn it,” Clay uttered.

“What?” Scott asked, his attention focused on the TV and with his controller in hand as he continued to practice his jumps.

_I need you. Please._

Regret twinged inside of Clay, but he pulled himself out of his messages and set his phone down before turning back to the task in front of them, him and Scott.

“This will be a doozy,” Clay remarked.

~ ~ ~

Scott invites Clay inside. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

Clay isn’t proud to admit that he didn’t go straight home after he’d left the day before, or that he went for a drive aimlessly around the city to try to think. He merely came up with nothing by the time night fell, and went home completely exhausted. He awoke to find Justin missing, along with all his things.

“So,” Scott surmised, “I take it you guys didn’t talk very much at all, did you?”

“No,” Clay exclaimed, “we didn’t!” He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears, but his heart rate hadn’t dropped very much after his sprint. “We got into a brief thing in the middle of the night, and when I woke up this morning—he was gone!”

Scott reached to hold onto him, and to try to steady him, Clay. “What—thing, exactly?”

Sniffling, Clay replied, “I had a dream he OD’ed, called him a ‘fucking asshole,’ and fell back asleep.”

Scott let out a quick breath. “And all his stuff was gone? His phone, too?”

“He’s not answering,” Clay said quickly. “It’s going straight to voicemail.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott insisted, “that’s a good sign, yeah? He’s bound to get in touch, sooner or later, right?”

Clay blinked and felt a tear drip down his cheek. “You don’t understand—I fucked up this time. I _really_ fucked up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Scott assured, looking towards the living room. “Clay, I—I need to do something for my mom real quick.”

Clay cleared his throat, and rubbed his eyes with his palm. “Shit, sorry, man—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Scott interjected. “You don’t have to leave. Hang out, get something to eat, or drink; I’ll be back in, like, _thirty minutes—_ tops!”

Shaking his head, Clay made for the door. “I’m so sorry, dude, I shouldn’t have—”

“No no no no,” Scott said, drawing him back from the door, “don’t go, don’t go. You can stay. Please stay.” He seemed to take a moment to think, then looked back at Clay. “Why don’t you call Sheri? She helped out before, right, with all this?”

Sniffling, Clay cleared his throat again. “Yeah, she did. You think she’d be—”

“She’ll be up; she’s normally up early getting ready for church, anyway, I think.”

Scott prompted Clay towards the couch in the living room, and Clay sat down. “I’ll be back, all right. Call Sheri!”

When Scott stepped away, and went out the front door, Clay felt his own immense stupidity finally crash down upon him. _Why the fuck did I do this?_

The embarrassment was almost enough to smother his panic, but as he pulled out his phone and scrolled to find Sheri’s number, he, Clay, realized—Scott was there for him yesterday, and the guy knew the whole story already _(or enough of it)_. Tony would’ve gotten pissed off and no doubt unleashed his fury on Justin and Clay didn’t have it in him to be in the middle of all that. Scott just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and so he, Clay, had—irrationally—hoped he’d be there for him again.

Sheri was the next best thing, so Clay tapped her name on the phone screen before bringing it to his ear as the call went out. _I really gotta fucking apologize to Scott for this._

Barely two rings passed before Sheri answered. “Hello? Clay?”

“Hey,” he greeted, clearing his throat, “hey, Sheri. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

She giggled. “Well, I answered, didn’t I? What’s up?”

Clay sighed. “I fucked up, Sheri. I really fucked up. Justin’s gone.”

“Wait, wait, wait—hold up. You get into a fight or something? It couldn’t have been _that_ bad, could it?”

Clay went over it again with her, how Justin had still been using, and how he, Clay, had found out.

“I, I— _really_ didn’t take it that well.”

“As you have a right to!” Sheri exclaimed. “Boy, that pisses me off, too.”

“But, I just—I spent most of the day yesterday avoiding him, and I didn’t try to do anything to get past it when I went back…and now he’s gone.”

“Clay, how many times has Justin done this? He’ll be back.”

“Sheri, that—that was before we…” Clay caught himself. Sheri didn’t know about him and Justin, either, and he didn’t have it in him to open that can of worms at that moment.

“Before what?” Sheri prompted.

Clay sighed. “Before—we were going to adopt him; to show that we were serious about all this, about him! How could he still use, and put all of it in jeopardy?” _How could he do this to me, all this time?_

Sheri was quiet for a moment. “Clay, I’ve been where you are. I think I know what you’re feeling. It’s hard. I know it—definitely feels like a betrayal. But…getting clean, and detoxing, are two different things.”

“What do you mean?”

“One’s a process, and one’s a step. We might have detoxed Justin once in your bedroom, but he never really got true help for his addiction.”

“Well, he got _something_ while he was in juvie,” Clay pointed out.

“Yeah, and it clearly wasn’t enough,” Sheri countered. “Look, addiction—is a disease. And there’s no cure for it. There’s only managing it, and trying to keep it in check—every single day. It’s not something you can do alone; or, if it is, it’s damn near impossible.”

Clay took a moment to digest. _I am such a fucking asshole._ “I am such a fucking asshole, aren’t I?”

“Maybe,” Sheri said, “but you were upset. It’s hard to watch people you care about—make the same mistakes over and over again. But, just like I said—it’s a disease. And Justin needs help.”

“How do I help him, Sheri? What do I do?”

“Was he sorry? Did he want to get clean?”

Clay tried to think; it was hard to look back at exactly what was said in those awful moments. “I—I think so. We…I—didn’t really make it easy for him to say.”

“Well, he’s gotta want it first,” Sheri went on, “that’s the first step. Personally, I think he does, but it matters more what you believe.”

Clay took another moment. “I believe it,” he finally said. “I believe him.”

“So—be there for him, Clay. Let him know you have his back, no matter what, and that he’s got people behind him. That makes the biggest difference of all.”

“He—he did mention he was gonna try…weaning himself off.”

“Great—that’s better than nothing. It’ll be a lot easier with someone to keep him in check. I’ll help out however I can, if you need me to; frankly, I’m invested now.”

Clay forced a laugh. “Yeah, but we’ll need to find him, first.”

“I’m not worried,” Sheri said. “He’ll come back to you. He took his phone, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’ll find him. Don’t sweat.”

Clay thanked her, and they said goodbye before ending the call. He was tempted to tell her that he, Clay, had already tried to find Justin, but his boyfriend’s phone’s location was not coming up anywhere. And if he’d brought that up to her, he’d have to explain why he’d used it before in the first place.

That night…the Spring Fling… _God, that was such a breakthrough._ It was a horrible fucking night and the best night of his life, all at once. Was that what his relationship with Justin would always be—the greatest joy, and also the greatest pain?

Clay tried finding Justin’s phone again to no avail. Realizing his throat hurt, and he was incredibly thirsty, he went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. While he started to drink, the front door opened, and Scott returned.

“Hey,” he greeted, and Clay said _hey_ in return. “You talk to Sheri?”

Clay finished downing his glass. “Yeah, I did.”

“How are you feeling?”

Nodding, and taking a deep breath, Clay replied, “Better, now. Hey, look, I’m really sorry I just barged in here like this—”

Scott waved his hand. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about it; it’s cool, it’s cool.” He presented his keys. “Well, you need us to start driving around looking for him? I don’t got anything else I gotta do right now.”

Clay gazed at him, genuinely touched. “No, dude, I—I can’t ask you to do that. It’d be pointless, anyway. Sheri was confident he’d just come back on his own so, I think I’ll trust her judgment on this.”

Scott nodded slowly. “You gonna be okay—waiting for him? You’re free to hang out here, still. I’ve been looking for a reason to pull out Left For Dead, again.”

Chuckling, Clay said, “Oh god—as much as I’d love to be nostalgic again, right now, I should get back. My parents just think I’m out for a run.”

“Sure, okay.” He patted Clay’s shoulder as they made for the door. “You want a ride home, then?”

Clay laughed. “My mom would freak and think I passed out somewhere if she saw me getting out of a car after a supposed run, but thank you. I’ll be okay.”

“Oh, right,” Scott said, then opened the door for him. “Well, I agree with Sheri—Justin’ll be back. I’m sure he’s just trying to clear his head—same as you, yesterday.” He offered a slight smirk.

Clay smirked back at him. “Touché.”

After stepping outside, Clay started down the hill, but that crippling anxiety began seeping through his chest again. He, Clay, had never been one to pray, but he found himself praying, nevertheless.

_Dear God, let me find him… Please make him turn on his phone!_

He’d had another dream that morning…one that he couldn’t bring himself to even recollect. The first one had been bad enough, but then to wake up again—after that—and find him gone, for real… It had to be one of the most surreal, most horrible terrors he’d ever faced…

Perhaps…even worse than the moment he realized—his tape was next.

_Dear God, let me find him…_

_Please…let me see him again…_

_Alive._

_Please don’t let it be too late…_

_~ ~ ~_

It’s so hard for Clay to get out of bed. No matter how long he sleeps, he’s always tired.

Just when he manages to open his eyes for long enough—and he’s able to keep them open—he shuffles to the other side of the bed, and clutches his pillow against his chest; with the covers over him, too, _it just feels too damn good_ to not give in…

The bed…no longer smells like Justin. He, Clay, fought for the longest time not to do it, but he looks through Justin’s phone for any means to be close to him; there isn’t much on there, but Clay does find a surreptitious photo in the kid’s favorites album—the only photo… It’s fuzzy, and dark, and was taken at dawn a few weeks back; Justin is clutching him in his arms while he, Clay, is fast asleep, nestled against his chest—and he’s kissing Clay on the top of his head.

Clay bursts into tears when he sees the photo. He can’t remember when it was, exactly, but he had chafed against Justin’s request for a nice picture of them together.

_Just one photo…pleeeeease?_

_Why? What—you gonna make it your wallpaper or something? Or post it online?_

He, Clay, had said it mostly in jest, but Justin didn’t push the issue; they technically weren’t _out_ , after all… _but it was just one_ fucking _photo—why did I have to be such an asshole?_

Clay cannot help looking at that photo whenever he is in bed, either before he falls asleep, or the sporadic moments when he returns to consciousness. _It may be the only picture we’ll ever have together—_ so it is immeasurably precious…

It’s so hard for Clay to get out of bed. No matter how long he sleeps, he’s always tired.

_~ ~ ~_

_Did you guys actually—get anything, yesterday?_

_No, nothing major, kiddo._

_Justin became—a little upset, while visiting the showroom._

_Oh._

_We decided it best not to push him._

_You’ll try talking to him into taking an actual bed, right?_

_Sure, dad, I’ll—try…_

Clay returns after an actual jog around the block to work up another sweat and to try to clear his mind, but he can’t get that awful dream out of his head. He forces himself to shower, hoping some time spent away from his phone would manifest a response out of the universe, but when he finishes after barely going through the motions and quickly towels himself off, he returned to his room to flip over his phone on the dresser only to find the screen void of notifications.

_Where are you? Where did you go?_   
_Seriously, you’re not leaving again are you?_   
_Please don’t do this_   
_You can’t do this, not again_   
_Please don’t do this_   
_Please don’t leave me like this_   
_Please don’t leave me_   
_I love you_

Clay left his towel on and fell back against the couch without bothering to try to dress. He clutched his phone against his chest and tries so hard to get that horrible dream out of his head…

_He’s in the car with Tony. They ride along the street. They’ve been_ riding for hours. Justin is nowhere to be found.

_“Do we circle back around again?”_

Clay doesn’t answer; he can’t. There’s suddenly a tree before them, massive and towering, ending the road. He gets out of the car. He walks toward the tree. There’s something that blends in with its massive roots snaking through the earth…something that nearly blends in, but not quite.

He gets closer to the tree. His heart starts pounding inside his chest, his heartbeat echoing inside his head and all around him. He knows what’s coming.

_Dear God, no…_

He kneels down. That something is that worn, dark sweater, and dirty, soiled jeans—on a long, thin body face-down in the dirt, with ants crawling through that shaggy brown hair…his skin so, so pale, and his one visible eye open against the soil…that crystal blue faded into dull, ashen lifelessness.

_“We’re too late.”_

_No…_

_“I’m sorry, Clay.”_

_No!_

His phone buzzes against his chest, causing him, Clay, to shout. He gasps for air, realizing he’s in tears again. He looked back at his phone; there was a new alert.

_Justin’s iPhone has been located._

Clay gaped at the e-mail alert for just a moment before tapping on the link to the map. It’s way to the south, somewhere Clay had never heard of. The ring of uncertainty wasn’t around anything labeled on the map, so he switched to a satellite view to find what looked like a development or construction area.

_Construction areas have cranes._ He tried to call Justin. It went straight to voicemail again.

When it seemed like his heart stopped once more, and he felt the terror closing in on him again, Clay leapt off the couch to get dressed. _No, no, no, no…_

He slipped on his shoes, then sprinted down the stairs.

“I’m meeting Justin for food!” he, Clay, called over his shoulder, and shot out the door without listening to what his parents said from the den. He fell back into the car, backed it out, and sped down the street.

_It’s not too late. It won’t fucking be too late._

Clay rang Justin again. Voicemail. _“Fuck!”_

_It’s not too late. I won’t fucking be too late._

_Only one outcome; nothing else._ Justin—back home, and safe. Nothing else was acceptable.

_Nothing else was possible. No, no, nope—nothing else._

_Dear God, please don’t let it be too late…_

_~ ~ ~_

Clay lies on his bed and stares up at the galaxy poster on his ceiling. His phone on the nightstand buzzes, and he reaches to check it—only to realize his actual phone is still in his pocket. The phone on the nightstand was Justin’s.

Hesitating, Clay drew back to ignore the phone. Everyone knew Justin didn’t have it; but, when the phone buzzed again, Clay yanked the phone off the nightstand to see who the hell it was.

MESSAGES now

Sam  
Seriously Justin, I’ve been ghosted before  
but damn…

MESSAGES now

Sam  
Am I gonna see you tonight?

MESSAGES 1:40 pm

Sam  
No opinions?

Clay swallowed his guttural reaction at seeing the messages when he remembered who Sam was—Justin’s recovery friend from juvie. _Shit._ Clay had been plugging in Justin’s phone to charge out of habit (since his boyfriend would often forget, anyway) but he, Clay, hadn’t been checking it for any messages.

He really, really, did not want to…but he unlocked Justin’s phone and dialed Sam, who picked up in three rings.

“Jesus, bitch, who died?”

As his throat stung, Clay tried to clear it. “Sam,” he attempted, and cleared his throat again. “It’s Clay.”

“Oh.” Sam’s reaction—in just a single syllable—was profound. They were both quiet for a painful moment.

“Justin’s missing,” Clay eventually managed.

It was another moment before Sam said anything. “Shit,” he sighed, “I’m so sorry. What happened? Last I heard, he told me he was supposed to go to his adoption hearing last week—did that happen?”

Clay swallowed. “No, it didn’t. His mom…showed up with a—boyfriend of hers, here at the house, and they took him.”

“When? Friday?”

“Yes, that morning.”

“So he’s been missing for almost a _week_ now?”

Clay swallowed again. “Yes.”

“Shit. So no leads, no sightings— _anything?_ ”

“So far, no. He—local news did air the story Sunday night; but there has been nothing.”

“Fuck, honey, I’m so sorry. How are you holding up? I can’t imagine this—being easy, at all.”

Clay sighed, but he really appreciated Sam’s words. “It hasn’t been.”

“How about your parents?”

Clay sighed again. “They’re trying to be okay, I think. I, I know they’re worried, too.”

Sam was quiet for another moment. “Damn, this—this really sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you—managing?”

_I’m not sure I am._ “I’m just…trying to make it through each day.”

“Well, I stopped praying a long time ago—but I’m gonna start again, for Justin. And you. Can you—text me your number? I wouldn’t want to keep making you check this phone.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thank you for—letting me know what’s going on. I’m sure you have plenty of people already to talk to, but, if you need someone else, I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

They said goodbye, and Clay ended the call. He did as Sam had asked, then plugs Justin’s phone back in to charge. He, Clay, then turns to lie back against the bed, and stares back up at the galaxy poster above him.

It’s so hard for Clay to get out of bed. No matter how long he sleeps, he’s always tired.


	5. I Wanna Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay gets an offer of aid from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, some plot here? :o

Clay and Tony walked up the steps to Tyler’s front door.

“Did he ever respond to you?” Clay asked Tony.

“Nope.”

“Well, I told his mom…” _Here goes._ Sighing, Clay went ahead and rung the doorbell, despite not expecting an answer. To his surprise, the door soon opened—and Tyler appeared in the doorway. He was in his pajamas, and it may have been in the middle of the afternoon, but… _it was something!_

“Tyler!” Clay greeted.

After offering only a blank stare at Clay, Tyler glanced at Tony, then asked, “What are you guys doing here?”

Clay was about to answer when Mrs. Down appeared beside Tyler. “Tyler, you remember, don’t you?” she said brightly, grasping her son’s shoulder. “I told you this morning Clay and Tony were coming by.”

“But why?” Tyler droned.

Mimicking Mrs. Down’s tone, Clay replied, “We—came to hang out!”

Rolling his eyes, Tyler turned to his mom. “Did you tell them to come?”

“No, no! She didn’t,” Clay interjected right as Mrs. Down started to reply. “We wanted to come. Seriously. Just like last week.”

“Yeah, Tyler,” Tony added, “we wanted to see you.”

Tyler sighed. “Whatever. Fine.” He turned around and started to walk back towards his room.

Clay and Tony stepped inside after Tyler’s mom prompted them in. As she shut the door, she whispered to them, “Thank you—so much; he really does appreciate you coming by,” to which Clay and Tony both offered polite smiles in acknowledgment before heading past the living room to Tyler’s room themselves.

Tyler had settled back at his desk. Clay shut the door behind him as Tony opted to sit in the bay window. When Clay took in the stack of books piled in front of Tyler at the desk, he also noticed the room was a lot tidier than their last visit; Tyler had only gotten back home that very day. _He’s cleaning. That should be a good sign._

“How are you doing?” Clay asked.

“Fine,” Tyler said, keeping his gaze on the drawing he was scribbling in the notebook before him.

“Your mom is—homeschooling you, right?” Tony asked.

“For now,” Tyler confirmed.

“How’s that going?” Clay added. “She used to be a teacher, too, wasn’t she?”

“For preschoolers,” Tyler answered.

Clay took a step towards the desk to see what Tyler was drawing; he saw a page of diamonds and squares etched in black ink.

“So,” Clay went on, “everyone _would_ like to see you at, at some point; if you’re okay with that.”

“How?” Tyler asked, glancing up briefly for the first time. “I’m expelled, remember?”

“No, yeah, I mean—”

“We just wanna know if you’re keen on any other visitors right now,” Tony interjected, shooting Clay a look.

Tyler shrugged. “They can do whatever,” he replied, looking back towards his scribbles. “Just don’t expect me to…entertain them.”

Clay took a seat on the bed and set his backpack down on the floor. “Yeah, that’s—totally fine. A lot of people care about you, Tyler. They just wanna know how you’re doing. We’ve made sure—what happened to you—hasn’t gotten out. It’s just the group that knows—and no one else.”

“Dennis explained it to me,” Tyler said. After a moment, he stopped scribbling, and turned around to look between Clay and Tony.

“Seriously, why are you guys even over here? I figured you’d be out—looking for Justin. I think he might need you more than I do, right now.”

“You heard about that?” Tony asked.

“I saw all the posts online.”

_So, he definitely_ has _been checking._ Jess had turned her profile into, essentially, a missing poster for Justin the day before. Zach, Scott, and several others followed suit—including Clay, himself, despite rarely ever using Facebook. He’d been extremely grateful for Jess, since it made him feel useful by…a modicum.

“The police…are looking,” Clay assured. “This, this isn’t like last time.”

“It’s worse,” Tyler insisted. “People are actually freaking out he’s gone this time.”

As Tony hid his face, Clay, himself, let out a brief chuckle. “That’s true. He’s—we’ve come a long way.”

“It’s been over four days,” Tyler went on. “Aren’t you worried?”

“A little,” Clay lied with a nod, catching Tony’s gaze. “It—may be Tuesday, but I’m sure they’ll slip up. Justin will turn up.”

“It’s crazy his mom showed up the very morning he’s supposed to go to the hearing,” Tyler remarked. “She must’ve been planning that from the start.”

Clay was about to respond when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. As he pulled it out, Tony added, “Yeah, it is crazy timing. The police still don’t know how she’s kept under the radar all this time, yet still know what was going on.”

MESSAGES now

_Clay, it’s Bryce. I heard what happened_   
_to Justin. Give me a call. I think I can help_

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Clay breathed. _How the hell did he get my number?_

“What?” Tony asked. Clay looked up to see both him and Tyler looking towards him, Clay.

“Nothing,” Clay spat, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Nothing important.” He felt his heart rate rise, and tried to take a deep breath to calm himself. _The fucking nerve…_

Tony looked at Clay for a moment longer before turning back towards Tyler. “Look, we can walk and chew gum at the same time,” he said. “We meant it back then, and still now, too—we’re not dropping you, Tyler. We still got a ways to go, and we won’t let it just be you suffering with your mom until the end of time.”

At that, Tyler seemed to smile…almost. “She’s not…horrible.”

“Well, _you_ are a saint,” Clay said, “because if I had to take lessons from my mom, I’d go insane.”

Tyler closed his notebook and turned around to look towards Clay and Tony. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m supposed to see my therapist at four-thirty.”

Clay and Tony both shot up. “No, no worries,” Clay insisted. “That’s—that’s important; definitely…important.”

When Clay opened the door, Tyler said, “Hey, if—if you both come again, together…maybe—bring another Xbox controller with you? So we could all play?”

Clay grinned as Tony clapped, then pointed at Tyler. “I got you, man!” he exclaimed. “Duly noted.”

Mrs. Down met them as they stepped out of Tyler’s room and she thanked them again as she walked them to the door. Once outside, and they were heading for their cars, Clay remarked to Tony, “He seemed better this week, no?”

“An improvement—definitely,” Tony agreed. They stopped on the sidewalk, and he gave Clay a serious look.

“What was that thing you got, earlier?”

“What thing?” Clay asked.

“That message or whatever that made you go all Darth-Vader on your phone.”

Chuckling, Clay answered, “Bryce. He got my number, somehow, and told me to call him; said he could help with Justin, somehow.” He gave a scoff. “Can you fucking believe it?”

“You don’t think he could?” Tony said, crossing his arms.

“How the hell could he?” Clay demanded.

Tony shrugged. “You won’t know until you talk to him.”

Clay shook his head. _“No,”_ he snapped, waving his hand, _“_ we don’t need his help.” When Tony continued to gaze at him, Clay went on, “What?”

“I’m surprised,” Tony said gently.

“Why?”

“I just thought—when it came to Justin—there would be few lines you _wouldn’t_ cross.” Tony gave another shrug. “I mean, I _did_ almost think Bryce would be one of them, but after before…”

Clay exhaled sharply. “There’s nothing that asshole can do that the police aren’t already doing. What else is there?” He rolled his eyes. “Besides—he doesn’t give a damn about Justin. Not really.”

Tony uncrossed his arms. “It might be worth…hearing him out, at least.”

They split off, getting into their respective cars. Clay started the Prius, and fumed as he drove off. _Fuck Bryce. There is no way he is insinuating himself back into Justin’s life—not like this._

He, Clay, wasn’t that desperate. It was still early. More and more people were finding out what happened to Justin, and it could only be a good thing.

There would be a lead soon enough. They didn’t need Bryce. _Justin_ didn’t need Bryce.

_Fuck Bryce._

~ ~ ~

Clay was leaving Liberty and about to get into the Prius when he heard his name. Feeling his blood pressure spike, he exhaled deeply before turning around.

_Bryce._

It looked like he’d just gotten out of his Jeep, and he had on his Hillcrest uniform. As he approached Clay—the faded but noticeable bruises on Bryce’s forehead and along the side of his face became much more apparent.

“What are you doing here?” Clay spat.

“I’m trying not to cause a scene,” Bryce said, “so I’d like to head somewhere else to talk.”

“I’m going nowhere with you.”

Bryce sighed. “I figured you’d say that, but you haven’t been responding to my messages—”

“Fuck off,” Clay snapped, opening his car door.

“Clay, wait!” Bryce pushed against the door, preventing him, Clay, from opening it completely. Clay leveled his gaze at Bryce—and was astonished at the level of rage that surged through his chest.

“Get—your _fucking hand_ off my car.”

Bryce reluctantly stepped back, and met Clay’s eyes for a moment longer before spreading his hands apart.

“Look, Clay, I am not here to intentionally piss you off, and I’m sorry my face upsets you so much; I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine this being easy for you, but I meant what I said—I wanna help.”

“What do you care?” Clay sneered.

“It doesn’t matter, does it, really?” Bryce countered. “What matters right now—is Justin. Wouldn’t you agree?”

At that, Clay could not disagree. _He’s right._

_Fucking Bryce._

“I have seen his mom,” Bryce went on, “do shit. When she wasn’t using—when she was sober—she could be a _completely_ different person. Justin has basically grown up with two or three different moms, so the one that showed up at your house that morning— _she’s_ the one I’m worried about.”

Clay swallowed. “Not Seth?”

“He’s a lap dog, from what I can tell; an enforcer, really. He doesn’t have the brains to pull off something like this.”

“Like you and Monty?” When Bryce didn’t respond for a moment, Clay went on, “How’d you get those bruises?”

“Look,” Bryce finally said, “the police have— _clearly_ found _shit_ so far, and we’re coming up to a week now. I’ve hired a private investigator, and I’ve told her everything I know, but most of my information is, frankly, out of date.”

Clay gave a bitter laugh. “You…a _private investigator?”_ he mocked. “Of course.”

Bryce sighed again. “She’s worked for my family before; she’s _really_ good at her job. I’m not saying she’ll find Justin on her own, but she’ll definitely figure out what the hell his mom has been up to all this time, and probably point the police in the direction of where they’re going.”

“What do you need me for, then?” Clay shrugged.

“If you—or your folks—are willing to talk to her, it could make her job a hell of a lot easier. And—time is…of the essence; wouldn’t you agree?”

When Clay didn’t respond, Bryce continued, “She’ll be contacting you—very soon. If it helps, just—forget about me; leave me out of it. Just focus on her, and how she might help Justin. All I ask is—don’t blow her off.”

At that, when Clay remained silent, Bryce turned back towards his Jeep. Clay looked to see Tony coming up to him and glanced towards Bryce again to see him backing out of the parking spot before driving away.

“Was that who I thought it was?” Tony asked as he came up to Clay.

Clay swallowed and nodded. “It was.”

Tony regarded him for a moment. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Clay said, nodding once more.

“What did _he_ want?”

Giving a flat smile, Clay opened his palms up as he shrugged. “Apparently, Bryce has a private investigator working to find Justin—and he wanted me to help her.”

“How?”

“Just…talking to her, I guess; providing information.”

“Are you gonna do it?” Tony asked.

Clay let out a long, slow breath. “I, I don’t know.”

Tony sighed with him. “Look, I get it,” he said, “but look at it this way: if it wasn’t Bryce—if it was, say, Zach—you would do it, wouldn’t you?”

Clay shook his head. “I’m just worried about…how this is gonna cost us.”

“Bryce didn’t fucking ask you to pay him, did he?” Tony exclaimed.

“No,” Clay confirmed, “but—that’s not what I meant.”

_Bryce Walker doesn’t do anything without a reason…_

_~ ~ ~_

Clay sat at an open table, then pulled out his phone to check the time. Since he was early, he looked towards the bar, and pondered about getting something. _It’s been a while since I’ve had Monet’s …_

He got up and opted to order something frothy and unhealthy. After being served, he saw a woman seated at the table he’d just left…even though he hadn’t set anything down there to signal it was taken. She had on a beige collared shirt and black slacks, and her heels clicked against the floor as she rose to greet him when he approached.

“Clay,” she said, extending her hand, “Isabella Martin—a pleasure.”

“Hi…” Clay responded, setting his drink down before shaking her hand; she had a strong grip. After she let go, they sat, and Clay went on, “Were you watching me?” She reminded him in many ways of…Hannah’s mom.

Isabella gave a subtle smile. “I’m on the clock, technically, but I rarely ever go into a situation without looking ahead.”

Clay watched her take out a notepad and pen from her purse. “You work for the Walkers.”

“I _have_ worked for them, yes. However, in this case, I’ve been instructed to report to you.”

Clay forced a laugh. “Seriously—what’s Bryce’s deal? What does he get out of this?”

The woman shook her head. “Not a whole lot. I don’t usually take on cases that are this hot, but he insisted, and was willing to pay. That says to me—he wants Justin found; whether that actually means he cares—I’ll leave that for you to decide.”

“Bryce is a user,” Clay scoffed. “He uses people. He does nothing if not out of self-interest.”

Isabella nodded. “That is also true. But—your goals are seemingly aligned here, aren’t they? Why not make the most of it?”

“Are you just going to report everything I tell you back to Bryce?”

“I report to you, Clay.”

“But I’m not the one signing your checks.”

The PI exhaled deeply. “As I said, I _have_ worked for the Walkers, but I’m not a spy for them—or anyone. Just like a lawyer tends to represent many, many people—I have worked for many, many clients.”

Clay gave a flat smile. “I’m assuming that means you know about me already—and my family.”

Isabella nodded again. “I know the basics of Justin’s living situation, and I know what is public knowledge surrounding the—controversy around the Baker trial. But my job is to see things from as many angles as possible, and that isn’t always easy—especially when you have to overcome such steep biases before you can even begin to get at any _real_ answers.”

Rolling his eyes, Clay said, “Well…you’ll have to forgive me—if I’m not _immediately_ eager to help you.”

“No apology is necessary,” Isabella insisted. “This is what I do.” She reached down to pull something else out of her purse…a notebook.

“Let me tell you what I have found, so far,” she went on, perusing through the notebook, “based on Bryce’s information: Seth Massey’s arrests have all been booked by one particular lieutenant at Evergreen County PD, whose former residence is currently Massey’s last known address—a mortgage he signed with Amber Foley in November of last year.

“Amber has had varying stints in rehab over the years—often using false names, but always voluntary. The last known stint I have been able to find was a two-week period at the rehab center in Montclair shortly after she moved in with Seth—about the same time that Justin left the first time.”

She looked up at Clay. “I understand that the courts, particularly your mother’s more recent firm, spent a considerable amount of time trying to locate her while Justin was in juvenile detention. That is also where I am hitting a wall, as her last two months have largely been unaccounted for.”

Closing the notebook, Isabella put her notepad back on top. “I have what Bryce has told me about Seth and Amber’s relationship, but I have a feeling you might have a lot more that you can share.”

Clay sighed, and shook his head. “Justin didn’t really talk to me about his mom, or Seth. The only thing I’ve gathered, which I’m sure you already know, is that Seth dealt in drugs—probably meth—and that Justin was afraid of him.”

“Why was he afraid of Seth?”

After finally taking a sip of his drink, Clay replied, “He called Seth a psycho, and my guess is that he clearly had anger issues. Justin saw his mom before she disappeared; he—he went there because…because we all had a fight, my parents and I, and he thought he was the reason.”

Isabella wrote something down on her notepad. “So Justin knew where his mother had moved to—is that right?”

Clay shrugged. “He found her, where she was living. Seth was in jail at the time, so Justin ended up taking his money and was planning to run away again. She told him, Justin, that if he took Seth’s money, Seth would kill her, so Justin told her to disappear, and left her some of that money.”

“Where is the money now?”

Clay hesitated. Seeing that, Isabella looked up at him, and added, “I’m not a cop, Clay.”

“And you’re not necessarily bound by confidentiality, either.”

Isabella sighed. “Bryce will only know what you want me to tell him. I’m assuming that is nothing, so—for all intents and purposes—I’m working for you. To find Justin. That is my job, right now—whether you help me, or not.”

Clay took another sip of his drink. “We gave the money back to him,” he said. “Seth showed up at Liberty in the middle of the day, confronted Justin, and made it seem like he had his mom captive before demanding ransom.”

The PI looked back into her notebook. “Is this after the police call at the Hickman Lane Apartment Homes?”

“Yes,” Clay confirmed. “Do you know the apparent story there, already?”

“Not fully,” Isabella admitted, “only that eviction proceedings were finally started after an exceptional period of time—given when Amber seemingly moved in with Seth.”

Clay sat back. “We went there, me and Justin, after the police came to us. Justin wanted to search his mom’s old house for potential clues, but we ran into the landlord there…or really, the former landlord. He admitted doing favors for her, and covering the rent for her while she was away. But—she apparently turned on him, and got him fired; Justin suspected they were having an affair.”

Isabella was writing away. “That is…very telling. Thank you—I knew there was something there. You did not share this with the police; were you the ones responsible for the police finding Seth’s alleged cache in Mayview?”

“Yes, we were.”

She looked up from her writing for a moment to smile at Clay. “I had a strong sense you—had an inclination to handle things yourself.”

“And look where that’s gotten me,” Clay scoffed.

Isabella looked back to finish whatever she was writing before returning her attention to Clay. “Did you bring it?”

Letting out another sigh, Clay opened his backpack and pulled out Justin’s phone. “There’s nothing there; I’ve looked.” He handed it to her. “Nine-eight-one-two.”

Accepting it, she unlocked it, then put it back to sleep before placing the phone in her purse. “Phones are a treasure trove of information, Clay; it never hurts to have another set of eyes look.

“And back to the ransom payment,” Isabella continued, “I know you did not find her then, obviously, but what happened?”

Clay shrugged. “Seth gave us an address, we went there, and found what was clearly, now, a staged kidnapping escape. She left a note that upset Justin, but that’s it.” He pulled the envelope from his backpack as well and presented it to Isabella. She read it, took a picture, and gave it back to Clay.

“It’s cryptic,” the PI remarked. “Did you discuss it? What it meant?”

“No, we didn’t,” Clay said, shaking his head. “We never got a chance to.”

Isabella wrote a few more things in her notepad before asking, “Is there anything else you can tell me?” When Clay said _no,_ she closed her notebook and packed up her things.

“I appreciate you meeting with me, Clay. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she stood, and promptly left.

Clay watched her leave. After taking another sip of his drink, he realized he was…largely ambivalent about her. _She knew her stuff—but will anything really come of this? Will this even be worth it?_

Letting out a deep sigh, Clay grabbed his backpack and drink before making to leave.

_I hope you can forgive me, Justin._

Tony had been…almost right. What troubled him, Clay, was that he couldn’t think of a line, ultimately, that he _wouldn’t_ cross to save Justin.

_I just wish I knew what this was gonna take…_ to have Justin back home.

And safe.

_~ ~ ~_

The view is breathtaking and vast, and the wind whistles through the cables supporting the bridge. There have been very few vehicles, but each one that passes vibrates the railings like guitar strings; strings, suspended across a bridge, that create music when struck… Vibration, and a medium—the essential elements of sound.

If no one is around to hear the sound, though, does it really exist? Objectively…the answer is yes. Stupid question. Things still exist even if no one is aware of them. Infants learn object permanence early on in their development. It is an asinine philosophical question, and an arrogant position, to pose that something needs to be acknowledged in order to exist.

_I think, therefore I am._ But few know the fuller context of that translation… _I doubt, therefore I think—therefore I am._ That cannot doubt which cannot think, and that cannot think which does not exist.

Is sentience the only criteria for existence? Obviously, no. But if thought is inextricably tied to existence, why do so many insist that it can happen without it? Past lives, alternate universes, souls…these are things often acknowledged but not proven to exist. A negative can be proven, contrary to what many may say; it is possible to prove a thing _not_ to exist…just as it is possible to prove that something _does_ exist. To pose otherwise is just to play semantics, or insist upon ignorance…

Could ignorance be bliss? If existence means pain, could non-existence be the ultimate peace? _To doubt, is to think…_

The world of everything could be balanced on the head of a needle, just as a king of infinite space could reign inside a nutshell. _If not for these bad dreams…_

Doubt…the only way of existence…

_We all fall down._


	6. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay has a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for possibly distressing images.

Clay wakes with a jolt when he hears the door open, then footsteps. He groans when he turns to see his mom approaching the bed—right before she rips the covers off him.

“Clay,” she scolded, “it is time to get up.”

He, Clay, didn’t move for a moment. _I was wondering when she would do this._ He swallowed the flare of anger that had shot through his chest, and all that he found himself left with was…despair. He looked away from his mom and stared back up towards the ceiling.

“Why?” he grunted.

“It’s almost two in the afternoon. You can’t continue to disrupt your sleep cycle like this.”

“My sleep is already fucked. And I don’t have anything to do today; it’s Saturday.”

“Sweetheart—it’s _Sunday_.”

Clay swallowed. “Oh.” _Same difference._ “So?”

“Honey, you’ve been in bed, it seems, nearly the _entire_ weekend. You _have_ to get up.”

Clay turned onto his side away from her. “Circular logic, mom; I thought you knew better…”

He felt the bed shift as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, honey, I’m sorry if—I’m not beyond logical fallacies, at the moment…” Her voice started trembling. _Oh no…_ “I need to see you out of bed, Clay. I need to see you eat something; taking—basic care of yourself… Please.”

_I should have known; yesterday had been—too easy…_ “I think you know,” Clay sighed, “I’m beyond those things, right now.”

He felt pressure on his arm; his mom was gently grasping it. “I don’t understand, sweetheart, _why—_ this is affecting you so terribly. This is hard for me, too, but I thought this might be more like when Justin was detained… Not—like this.”

“We knew where he was, last time,” Clay spat.

“I know, but this—has _crippled_ you. I know—you care for him, and it’s been over a week now, but there’s still reason to hope—”

“I _don’t_ just _—”_ he began, spinning towards her, but caught himself. The rage that had flared through him burned out just as quickly when he saw his mother’s face shift from sympathy to anguish.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she prompted, grasping his arm again. “Is there something else?”

Feeling his despair consume him, he, Clay, threw himself back against the bed and buried his face into his pillow as he began to sob.

“I love him, mom,” he wept. “I— _love_ him…”

His mom leaned over him to embrace him. “I know, sweetheart,” she cooed. “I know.”

“No, mom—”

“I _know._ ”

Managing to contain the sobs, Clay looked up at his mom when she sat back up.

“The morning after the dance,” she began, “your father tried to wake you two, and came in to see you both…cozied up together, on top of the bed.”

_Oh._

His mother cleared her throat. “Now, admittedly, there was room for interpretation, especially after we learned that Tony had also spent the night. We—didn’t want to make any assumptions, and at the time, I only had your father’s description of how— _comfortable_ you both looked, asleep, while in each other’s arms.” She smiled. “But, as time has gone on, it’s become clear to us both how much…you’ve come to mean to each other.”

Clay broke his gaze and looked back towards his pillow, sighing. “I—I didn’t know how to tell you,” he uttered. “Justin wanted to tell you, but I was just so afraid—”

“It’s all right, honey,” his mom interjected, rubbing his arm. “This doesn’t change anything for me, or your father—about either of you. We’re just—so thrilled—to see you both so happy these past few weeks. We were waiting for you to come to us, but at this point, there’s no use in hiding—how devastating this must be for you.”

Looking back up at her, Clay cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“Honey,” she insisted, “it’s okay!” She prompted him to sit up, and he obliged her as she gripped his shoulders. “There’s no need, anymore, to keep it all in, or to feel like you can’t come to us.” Clay met her eyes briefly before averting his gaze back towards the bed.

“Look,” his mom continued, “you wanna know how you can make this up to me? Come downstairs—have a meal with me. And—and maybe…take a shower?”

Clay coughed a laugh, and his mom embraced him again, tightly. “I love you so much,” she said, and Clay embraced her back. “I know—this is hard, but wherever he is, I know—Justin _wouldn’t_ want you suffering like this.” She drew back, and went on, “So—you just have to keep… _hanging on_. Can you do that? For him? For me?”

Meeting her eyes, Clay gave quick, shallow nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“There’s wisdom, you know, in the saying, ‘fake it ‘till you make it.’ Wallowing in pain, as tempting as it might be—won’t serve you in the long run. Justin will be back—and I’m sure he’s fighting like hell to do that. So—you need to keep fighting, too.”

When his mom got up from the bed, Clay nodded again, and said, “Okay.”

“See you downstairs in a few?”

Clay managed a slight smile. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll be down.”

His mom smiled back at him before leaving the room. Letting out a deep, heavy sigh, Clay swung his legs off the bed and began trodding towards the bathroom. It wasn’t how he’d wanted to do it, but with it all out in the open, now, he had to admit that he did feel…somewhat lighter.

However—there was no suppressing or getting over that looming dread that continued to weigh him down. With no leads, no sightings, no word at all…he, Clay, had no idea how much longer he could go on like this. _The fact is…I’ve already been faking it—all this time._

Nothing felt right without Justin. And as more time passed—the larger that shadow in the corner seemed to grow.

_Is it…inevitable?_ It felt inevitable. That shadow…Clay didn’t know how he was going to fight it, and he didn’t know how much longer he had…

_before it consumes me._

~ ~ ~

Tyler approaches, assault rifle in hand as he walks around the car.

_“Tyler—what, what are you doing?”_

_“Get outta here, Clay.”_

Tyler gets closer, and Clay is unable to move. The gun in Tyler’s hands is enormous.

_“Please, Tyler—you don’t want to do this. I know you don’t!”_

Tyler aims the gun at him. The barrel pokes his chest. _“You don’t know anything about me.”_

_“I, I know you’re hurting. And I hurt, too; I hurt you—and I’m sorry—but it didn’t fucking help!”_

Tyler raises the gun higher. The barrel is all Clay can see. _“This’ll help me.”_

_“Tyler, please—”_

The bang deafens him. His ears ring. Clay sees the smoke from the barrel—before turning around…

Justin is there, red expanding out of his chest…and dribbling from his mouth. Clay leaps at Justin as he falls, but he still can’t move…

_“NO!”_

Clay jolts awake, hearing his own voice echo in his ears as he reaches for nothing and kicks the air. He feels wet; he’s sweating all over—again—and looks to see the covers missing from the bed, once more.

He sits up to take in where he is. As he, Clay, worked to reclaim his breath, he eventually manages to convince himself—despite his heart thumping against his chest—that it was just a dream; just another dream. He was safe. He was okay.

_Like hell._

Clay collapses against his pillow, not bothering to pick up his sheets. _The bed is too fucking empty, anyway._

Every night has been like this. Every night…another nightmare; sometimes two. _Bonus_. Tonight was the return of an old classic—one that haunted him, Clay, all those nights Justin had been locked away. _If I’m honest…_ Clay would take this regression over the more recent ones, but without the Justin twist. Usually it’s him, Clay, getting shot—not Justin. He would take those in a heartbeat…the old ones of Hannah, or Skye…over Justin dying, or being killed, in inexplicably horrifying and gruesome ways…all while he, Clay, is all but powerless to stop it, and is simply—cruelly—forced to look on.

_Maybe this is what I get…_ Clay hasn’t been able to dwell on the good ways Justin could potentially be found; he can only gravitate towards _that phone call, or coming home to see his mom and dad at the dining table—solemn looks on their faces—or opening the door to Deputy Standall looking distressed, or finding himself at a funeral—all dressed in black…_

Clay finds himself sobbing again, the wave of despair drowning him as he, his body, struggles, stubbornly, to breathe.

_Where are you, Justin? Where are you?_

_I can’t keep on like this. I can’t…_

Clay turns onto his stomach, and buries his face into his pillow as he weeps.

_Where are you?_

~ ~ ~

Missing…disappeared…vanished… How easy is it to lose things, and for them never to be found again? Seven billion people in the world, and so many places to hide… To think—the planet may be mapped out tidily on a globe, but not every grid has been explored. Mysteries, never to be solved, fill the history of time…and beyond.

_All the light we cannot see…_ How much hides in plain sight, yet is still invisible? How much is seen, yet, in truth, _unseen?_

_Clay!_

How many go through each day, seeing all there is to see, yet retain nearly none of it? How many have seen him—

_Clay!_

—yet failed to see him? What if he’s nowhere to be seen…or some place where—

_Clay!_

_—where no one can see?_

“Clay! What the hell are you doing!”

He, Clay, snaps to—with a shake, and a jolt… Suddenly, Scott is before him, and he’s shaking him, Clay.

“Clay! _Can you hear me?”_

_Clay?_ He _(Clay?)_ can’t speak. It’s hard to breathe; his, Clay’s, heart pounds inside his chest, ready to explode.

_“Clay!”_ Scott looks panicked, stricken. “What in the _hell_ is the _matter_ with you?”

“Scott, easy, easy!” _Sheri?_

Sheri takes Scott’s place. She also looks worried. “Come on, come on, Clay, it’s okay…come on…”

Then it all hits Clay at once—the bus, and a line of cars… They were in the road. People were looking onwards from their cars, some of them stepping out to get a better look.

“What—what?” Clay choked.

“Hey, hey,” Sheri insisted, “it’s okay, it’s okay—just keep going.”

She and Scott were walking him along, and they picked up the pace as they neared the sidewalk. They keep walking him, Clay, once they get off the road, and continue to walk him—quickly. As they round the corner, he, Clay, spots the cars starting to drive on again…like normal.

They came to a stop near Scott’s sedan, which was hastily and illegally parked along the sidewalk. Scott steps before Clay again, grabbing his shoulders.

“What the hell were you doing!” he demanded.

Clay can barely speak. “I, I…” _What happened? What happened?_

Feeling the everything of everything overwhelm him, Clay bursts into tears. Sheri took him from Scott’s grasp. “Man—I _told you!_ Take it easy!”

Although he, Clay, tried to get a grip on himself, control was all but an illusion at that moment. He ended up clutching desperately onto Sheri as the hurricane raging through his faculties blew itself out.

Scott let out a heavy sigh. “Clay, I’m—I’m sorry; I’m really sorry. You’re all right—you’re okay.”

“It’s okay, Clay,” Sheri echoed, “you’re okay. Deep breaths—deep breaths.”

As Clay concentrated on his breathing, that illusion of control fast gave way to the real thing. Once he was able to reign in the tears, Clay drew back from Sheri and quickly rubbed his face.

“Clay, do you remember how you got here?” Sheri asked gently.

Inhaling deeply, and then blowing out a long breath, Clay looked around them…and couldn’t recall a thing.

“No, no,” he uttered, “I—I don’t.”

Scott gingerly grasped his, Clay’s, shoulder. “Come on,” he said, prompting him towards his car, “I’m—almost positive—I saw your car still at school.”

He opened the backseat door for Clay, who stepped inside. Sheri went around the other side to sit beside Clay while Scott got back in the driver’s seat. Scott started the car, pulled back onto the road, then drove onto a side street to turn around.

“Clay,” Sheri asked, “what are you feeling right now?” She took his hand.

Glancing at her, Clay forced himself to nod his head as he replied, “I’m okay, I think; I’m okay.”

His breathing had returned to normal, and his heart rate had fallen. He still, however, felt shaky—like his nerves were still smoldering—and so he was grateful that Sheri continued to hold his hand.

They were back at Liberty moments later. When Scott pulled onto the parking lot, Clay was relieved to see his Prius among the few cars still there.

After Scott parked beside the Prius, Clay undid his seatbelt—while Sheri did the same. “Thank you,” he began.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Sheri interjected. “Do you have your keys?”

Pulling them from his pocket—as if he, Clay, were mesmerized—Sheri snatched them from his hand before stepping out of the car. “Come on,” she instructed.

Already understanding what was happening, Clay didn’t try to resist as he followed Sheri to his car. She got into the driver’s seat, while Clay settled into the front next to her, and she held the key towards the dash before remarking, “Oh, shit, I forgot, it’s a Prius,” and pushing the button to start the engine.

When Sheri had pulled out of the spot, Clay saw Scott following them as they drove off the lot once again.

“You,” Clay started, “you really didn’t—have to do this.”

“Yeah,” Sheri let out, “we’re not leaving you alone right now to get home all by yourself.”

Clay sank into the seat, turning his gaze out towards his window. _Oh my fucking god, did I make a fool of myself…_ He couldn’t stop thinking back to all those stopped cars—all those people on the bus gawping at him—and letting out a sigh in disgust.

“It wasn’t that bad, Clay,” Sheri said.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, you _did_ almost get run over by a bus, but other than that…”

When he looked over at her, she shot him a smile, and Clay managed a chuckle.

“It’s really lucky we found you. Scott was really freaking out; try not to hold it against him.”

Clay shook his head. “I’m not—I won’t, believe me. It, it wasn’t him.”

“Do you—have any idea, what happened? Do you…remember?”

Clay sighed. He thought back. “No, I—I don’t.”

All he, Clay, could remember…was being at his locker after the final bell rang; and, maybe, heading for the parking lot.

“How’d—how’d you find me?” Clay went on.

“Scott was just driving past,” Sheri replied. “We noticed the traffic, and—I guess Scott just saw you up the road…in the middle of the street. He was like, ‘holy fuck, that’s Clay,’ then spun the car around in a U-turn before pulling over.”

“What—what was I doing?”

Sheri shot him a look. “Clay—I have no _earthly_ clue. It seemed almost…like you were just wandering; lost.”

_How apt…_

They soon reached his house. Sheri parked the car in the driveway before handing Clay back his keys.

“Thank you,” he uttered.

“Hey,” Sheri insisted, “don’t mention it.”

They stepped out of the car, and Clay saw Scott coming up towards them.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming to stop before them.

Clay forced himself to nod once more. “I’m—I’m okay. Really.”

To his surprise, Scott reached out and tightly embraced him, patting him, Clay, through his backpack.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” Scott began, “I made you cry.”

Clay hugged him back. “No, dude, you—that wasn’t you. Trust me—it wasn’t you.”

They parted, and Scott sighed. “Still, I definitely—did a shitty job, returning your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clay said, shaking his head.

Sheri looked towards the house. “You got any snacks?”

Letting out an airy laugh, Clay admitted, “Honestly, no, but—my dad should be bringing home groceries later. But, seriously—you both have done enough, already. I’m—I’m really sorry...for all this.”

Scott patted his shoulder while Sheri rubbed his arm. “If you need anything,” Scott began.

“Anything,” Sheri echoed, “just ask.”

“Okay?” Scott finished.

Nodding rapidly, Clay said, “I will. I will.”

Sheri gave him one last hug goodbye before she and Scott walked back towards the sedan. Clay made for his front door, looking back briefly to see them drive off, before heading inside the house. He made for the kitchen to get a glass of water, and found himself downing it in several huge gulps as he discovered how thirsty he was.

After setting the glass at the sink, Clay spent a moment to collect himself before going upstairs to collapse on the couch. As he sat back, and let himself sink into the cushions, he tried to think back… _what was it—that set me off?_

Clay knew there were times when he was…zoning out; blanking out during class. He, Clay, knew he was losing time here and there; time had become a lot harder to see as a continuous line lately, but he never imagined it would get _this_ bad—where he was literally…blacking out.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see it was only a weather alert before dropping it on the coffee table. After a moment, Clay grabbed his phone again, unlocked it—then felt his body temperature drop sharply as he saw the webpage he had left open.

_The Evergreen County missing persons page…_

Justin’s picture was there—his bright smile beaming, wearing his basketball tank—and Clay quickly closed the page before putting the phone back to sleep and tossing it back on the coffee table; his heart rate was picking up, and he felt his breathing become shallow again.

_That was such an old fucking picture…it had to have been from freshman year—did they_ really _not have anything more recent…for fuck’s sake?_

Shutting his eyes, Clay focused on his breathing, and tried to steady his heart rate. _That was it…that had to have been it…_ _The fucking police—_ using an old picture like that? _Where the hell did they get it from?_

Clay’s head started to hurt, so he lay across the couch in an attempt to calm himself.

_Would it all be in vain, anyway?_

_Was it all just…fucking hopeless?_

Clay was starting to understand…he didn’t know how to answer those questions anymore.

At least not in the way that he so desperately wanted to…


	7. Vires Et Honestas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay makes an identification.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially heavy chapter ahead...

Clay was lying awake on the couch and staring into the darkness when he heard the door click shut down the hall. He sprang up and peered towards the sound…before tapping his phone briefly to check the time. _Nearly midnight…_

Springing from the couch, he crept towards the door and silently opened it to peer through the lingering darkness around the stairs. Clay spotted his mom at the bottom of the stairwell practically tiptoeing towards the front door. As she began putting on her coat, Clay sprang for the light switch in the hallway to flip on the lights.

_“Mom!”_

She’d cried out with a shudder before spinning around back towards the top of the stairs. Clay was already trotting down the steps to confront her.

_“Where are you doing?”_ he demanded.

She nearly hid it completely, but Clay spotted the flash of remorse on her face before it vanished.

“Honey,” his mom breathed, “I forgot something very important at the office…and it’s for a very early case in the morning—”

“Mom,” Clay interrupted, coming to a stop before her, “you’re a good lawyer but a terrible liar and I get that from you.” He took in a deep breath. _“Where,”_ he repeated, “are you going?”

Clay felt himself already losing control of his heart rate, fast. _Keep it together…_

“Son?” He heard his dad above, and his footsteps as he descended the stairs—but Clay kept his focus on his mother before him…and how she was, frankly, speechless.

As his, Clay’s, throat began to constrict, it was becoming very, very difficult to breathe. He, Clay, could feel the anguish building inside of his chest—crushing him—as his vision started to blur…

“It’s him,” Clay whispered, barely. “It’s him.”

Stepping towards him, his mom took his shoulders right as a sob escaped him. “No, _no,_ honey, we don’t know that right now.”

Clay wept, “Why else would you be trying to sneak off in the middle of the night if not to go to the police station to identify—”

He felt another hand on his back. “Kiddo,” his dad interjected, “your mom’s right—we don’t know anything for sure right now.”

Clay shook his head, flinging tears away as he blinked. “They know, they know!” he cried. “They just need a confirmation—it’s always just a formality! _They know!”_

“Clay, that is not true,” his mom said. “That is why Bill called me personally—”

“So he’s _Bill_ now, huh?” Clay exclaimed, flinging up his hands as his voice continued to tremble. “This is _just_ a _formality!_ I _know_ how this works, _mom!”_ His voice broke. _“_ I’ve spent _days—obsessing_ over this _very_ moment—they _know!_ It’s _him!”_

He couldn’t hold it in any longer and broke down sobbing into his dad’s shoulder, who’d pulled him close.

“Sweetheart,” his mom insisted, her voice trembling as well, “I’m telling you, that is why I am going over there—to find out, one way or the other. For sure.”

“Please don’t get so worked up, son,” his dad added. “Don’t try to lay the cart before the horse right now.”

Inhaling deeply, Clay sniffled, and pulled away from his dad. “It has to be me,” he insisted, quickly rubbing his eyes with his palms.

“Honey, no,” his mom said, “it doesn’t.”

_“Yes,_ it does,” Clay pressed.

His dad grasped his shoulder. “Clay, your mom’s right. You do _not_ need to put yourself through this.”

Clay gaped at him. “But if it is,” he snapped, “I will _never_ forgive myself if I failed to be there for him in this moment! _Never!”_

His mom was shaking her head. “I can do this on my own, sweetheart,” she pleaded, pulling him in for an embrace. “I promise you.”

Clay hugged her back, despite himself. “Please, mom,” he wept, “I—I _have_ to do this; it has to be me. _Please…”_

When he pulled back from her, his parents regarded each other for a moment—before his dad prompted him back towards the steps.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We’ll all go.”

Letting out a choked sigh of relief, Clay thanked his father before sprinting back up the steps to his room. He swapped out of his pajamas into jeans and threw on a hoodie and shoes before trotting back downstairs to meet his mom at the door. His dad returned a few moments later and they all packed into his mom’s car as she drove and Clay sat in the front.

“I’m telling you the truth,” his mom insisted as they pulled out of their neighborhood, “the police do not have a positive ID.” She looked at Clay as they reached a stop sign, and he met her gaze. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

Nodding, Clay swallowed; he’d managed to reign in the tears. “I know. We’ve got a fifty-fifty chance; I get it.”

As she set the car in motion again, his dad said from the backseat, “Actually, son, those odds aren’t quite right. The probability of a positive match here is far smaller than you think.”

Clay said nothing as they continued onward, his mom pulling onto the highway a few moments later. Except for the howl of the wind and the road beneath them, the car was otherwise silent as they drove.

Once they had pulled off the highway, and they were back on city streets, Clay spent the coming moments trying to steel himself. He’d spent far too long researching this…eventuality. _I can’t fucking fall apart now._

They were at the police station before he knew it. Clay looked up in surprise, and his mom took his hand.

“Sweetheart,” she began.

“I know,” Clay finished, looking back at her, and squeezing her hand briefly in return.

She did not look pleased, but Clay still opened his door when she reached to do the same. He followed her to the station entrance while his dad trailed behind them. His mom reached the reception desk just as Alex’s dad came around from the back; the deputy wasn’t in uniform, but he waved her to come along.

“Clay?” Standall remarked upon seeing him. The deputy looked towards his mom.

“I had to come,” Clay blurted.

Alex’s father looked sad. “Clay, we really weren’t trying to put you through this…”

“I know,” Clay spat, shaking his head, “I get it. Please—can we just get on with it?”

Sighing, Standall led them through into the back and through the station. It was not an unfamiliar path _(from that lifetime ago)_ but Clay tried to put that out of his mind as the deputy led them to what seemed awfully like an interrogation room. _(They’re just rooms…)_ He had them wait outside it before going to retrieve something—presumably, the ID photos.

“Clay,” his mom began, “he’s getting the materials; they’re just going to be photos, and they’re only going to be of distinguishing—”

“I know,” Clay snapped. Though he kept his focus off her, he could see her distress deepen.

Deputy Standall returned with a folder in hand. He keyed into the door to the room, and they followed him inside. There was just the one table in the brightly lit room, and two chairs, so when his mom sat at one, Clay sat across from her, and his dad lingered near the wall; Clay saw him fold his arms together off in the one-way mirror.

With the folder in his hand, Alex’s dad hesitated, and looked between his mom and him, Clay. Clay looked towards his mom, and when their eyes met—he felt as if he suddenly came to…

Clay looked back at the folder in Standall’s hands—and an immense wave crashed into him. _Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god…_ Everything inside of him was going to _fucking explode_ and he was immediately _drowning_ and he had to _get the FUCK out of there_ because he _couldn’t fucking breathe_

“I can’t do this,” Clay cried out, shooting up from the table. His dad caught him, and steadied him, as he, Clay _(Clay?)_ began to hyperventilate…

“Okay, okay, no problem, kiddo,” his dad began, prompting him out of the room—but he, Clay, gripped the table—clutching it with all his might.

“No— _no,”_ Clay insisted, and his dad let go of him. After a moment, when he managed to steady his breathing, Clay looked up at his mother.

“Mom.”

Slowly, she began to nod, she looked back towards the deputy. Alex’s dad lay the folder before her.

_This is it. This is it this is it this is it this is it_

“There’s no need to look at the later photos,” Standall said, “if you’re sure about the first one or two. The primary feature is a distinctive tattoo across the chest.”

_No._

Clay sat back down—feeling his heart race, and his head become light—before fixing his gaze on his mother. She met his eyes briefly before turning directly to the plain brown folder on the table. Carefully, she reached to open it. _This is it this is it this is it this is it_

She pulled the cover open—then slowly flipped the photo over…

And gasped.

_“No,”_ Clay wailed, collapsing against the table.

_NO_

_NO NO NO NO_

_NO NO_

_NO_

Despite the air, soul—sanity—rushing from his body, he, Clay _(Clay?)_ heard his mother seemingly struggle to speak.

“My God, oh my God…I, I, I—I don’t know…”

Clay looked back up at her—she seemed stricken—then forced his eyes down towards the first photo on top. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes to clear his vision.

_A brightly lit and grey, pale, exposed torso—with a faded tattoo across the chest…_

_Of fucking swirls or patterns or muddied feather eagle wings from decomposition_ of fucking _death_ distorted

“That’s not him,” Clay spat. “That’s not him. _Vires et honestas._ That’s _not_ his fucking tattoo.”

“Oh thank God,” his mom breathed.

Deputy Standall slid and flipped the second photo from the stack before Clay—a different, closer angle of the first.

“You’re sure?” he pressed.

_Thank god._ Clay nodded briskly, catching the tear that fell from his eye with a finger. “His tattoo—looks _nothing_ like that. It’s way too big; it doesn’t cover his chest like that.”

The deputy gathered the photos back together and closed the folder before removing it from the table. “Thank you, Clay.”

“I’m sorry,” his mom suddenly uttered. When Clay looked back at her, and saw she seemed on the verge of tears, he nearly choked out another sob as he shot around the table to hug her.

“I wasn’t sure,” she cried, embracing him tightly, “I wouldn’t have known…”

“It’s okay, mom,” Clay assured.

“I thought I would have been stronger…”

“No, it’s okay,” Clay insisted, “it’s not him. It’s not him—we’re okay.”

He felt his dad come around the table as well, and they held her together as she cried.

“This poor boy,” she wept.

~ ~ ~

Deputy Standall waited with them while they composed themselves before leading them back out into the lobby. His mom thanked the deputy, but they otherwise said nothing as they left the station. As his dad took the driver’s seat this time, Clay settled in the back behind him and his mom took the front. His dad started the car…and then simply sat back.

“I think we should take the moment to acknowledge—how hard that was,” his father remarked.

“I was foolish to think I could have done that alone,” his mom added.

“Why couldn’t he have just sent them to you?” Clay snapped. “Why did we have to do this like that?”

His mom cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you’ve read, honey, but there are sensitive procedures in place for this type of…process.” She looked towards him, Clay. “He could not disseminate those photos, let alone in just _any_ manner.”

Clay shook his head, and steered his gaze out his window. “I’m sorry. I, I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”

“I’m glad you were here, Clay,” his mom went on, “as difficult as this might have been. I don’t know if I could have kept this to myself while waiting for DNA results.”

Clay looked back at her. “So if you weren’t sure, you still weren’t going to ask me?”

His mom shook her head, too. “I don’t know, honey. I’m not sure what I would have done.”

“Look,” his dad cut in, “it’s done. Let’s focus on what’s happened—it wasn’t Justin, but this was still a tragedy waiting for some other family out there. This was not a positive lead, after all this time—but there is still reason to maintain hope.”

He glanced towards the backseat. “Would you agree, Clay? Or no?”

Clay let out a sigh. “I don’t know, dad. I…don’t know what to feel, right now. I mean—I’m relieved, of course, that it wasn’t him, but now…I think—I think I just feel empty.”

“I beg to differ, son,” his dad said. “I bet what you’re feeling—is exhaustion—because I’m feeling it, too. This has taken a heavy toll on all of us; but, it was worth it—to know for sure.”

“For now,” Clay added.

His father set the car in gear, backed out of the parking spot, and they began the drive back home. They said only little on the way back, and his dad ended up putting on some quiet jazz on the radio when they got back onto the highway.

When they were back in their driveway, and they stepped back into the house, his mom turned to him, Clay.

“What are you feeling?”

Clay answered with a shrug. “Tiredness, I guess. Back to…the holding pattern I’ve been in—waiting for news.”

He looked over her; Clay couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so…emotional. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked.

His mom managed a slight smile. “In time,” she said, grasping his arm. “We all will, I think—when we find Justin.”

They went upstairs, and Clay returned to his room. He laid himself across the couch again, not intending to change back into his nightwear, and he looked back up at the ceiling while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness once more. _That was_ _a slight turn of phrase_ from his mom; _when we find Justin…_

_Did she have something else in mind they could be doing? What else was there to do?_ Clay hadn’t heard from Bryce’s PI with other than a rudimentary update that Justin’s mom had, in fact, spent at least part of her time under the radar in rehab under a false name. _At this point, they could have been anywhere by now._

Justin didn’t have a passport, the PI did find out, _which makes sense…_ but there was not much else she had uncovered so far; not, at least, with locating Justin.

Still, however, he, Clay, felt like tonight had been a turning point…somehow. He’d faced a trial run, so to speak, of the _worst possible outcome_ and they’d come through it with good news. Maybe that was what his dad was getting at. _Fate had already showed its hand—surely, it wouldn’t be so fucking cruel…_

Clay stared up into the darkness, waiting for the exhaustion to set in.

~ ~ ~

Clay awoke on the floor…on his stomach, and beside the couch. Sunlight was already peeking into the room, and as he shifted off his front, letting out a grunt, he suddenly recalled the sensation of falling sometime during the night. He stretched, and groaned, then rubbed his head; _maybe I hit it while falling off the couch…_ which might explain why he couldn’t remember any dreams.

_I am fucking exhausted._ Nevertheless, he, Clay, grabbed onto the coffee table and forced himself upwards before gradually stumbling to his feet. He opened the door and treaded down the hallway to use the bathroom. When he was done, he came back out into the hallway to stumble across his mom.

“You’re up!” she exclaimed as she stepped out of the master bedroom.

“Newsflash,” Clay grunted, rubbing his eyes.

“Honey, did you sleep in your clothes?”

Glancing down at himself, Clay shook his head. “Yeah; too tired, I guess.”

She regarded him for a moment. “You look okay; how are you feeling? Did you want to take off school again?”

_Wow, last night really did a number on her;_ she never presented playing hooky first.

Clay let out a deep breath. “You know, I think I’m as okay as I can be.” He shook his head. “I don’t wanna stay home, today.”

His mom smiled warmly at him. “Do try to eat something before you go, all right?”

Clay agreed, and went back to his room to change and to grab a towel before showering. That had been yet another disruption to their daily routine…breakfast and dinner—as a family. None of them had actually talked about it, but Clay had noticed it soon after Justin was taken. If he, Clay, had even managed to properly have a meal downstairs—it would only be with just one of his parents; not both. One of them would always have a reason to be absent—if he, Clay, thought to ask.

He made a point to grab a granola bar from the kitchen in front of his dad before leaving and setting off for school. The gloomy skies seemed to reflect his overall mood that morning, and it started to drizzle when he arrived at Liberty. He happened to pull into the parking lot right as Scott was getting out of his car, so the guy waited for him as he, Clay, parked.

“Hey,” Scott greeted, approaching Clay once he was out of the car.

“Hey,” Clay echoed.

“How ya doing?” Scott went on, and they began walking towards the school.

“I’m okay, you know, considering…”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment.

“So, uh,” Scott said, once they were inside, “I finally found my old copy of _Until Dawn_ that I was too chicken to finish. You feel like coming over today or Friday to, uh, you know…hold my hand?”

Clay burst out with a gentle laugh. Watching Scott finish _Dead Space_ had been… _supremely_ entertaining. “Yeah, yeah,” Clay agreed, “I could go for that.”

Scott grinned, and patted Clay’s arm. “Cool. Yeah, just—lemme know,” he said, and made his way down the hall.

Clay crossed paths with Jess as he headed for his locker, and she flagged him down.

“Oh my god, Clay,” she said, reaching to hug him. “Are you okay?”

He embraced her back, despite his confusion. “Yeah—why?”

Jess drew back from him. “Alex is sorry for what his dad did. Don’t worry—he went off on him, Alex did, on your behalf. He could have easily done the ID for you, or your mom.”

“Well, his dad’s cut him off, hasn’t he?”

“Right! And this all could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t.”

Clay shook his head. “It’s okay, Jess—really. I…kinda brought it on myself, anyway. My mom was trying to sneak out of the house to do it and—I lost my head for a bit.”

Jess grasped his arm. “Are you sure you’re all right? Sheri mentioned what happened yesterday, too, after school…”

Feeling his face burn, Clay rapidly nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah, that—was a fluke.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been letting the stress get to me and…I know better, now.”

Jess gave him a small smile and they started to walk. “I’m pretty sure I’d be doing the same thing if I hadn’t decided to run for student council president.” She sighed. “Somehow, the stress of that is counteracting everything—or I’m letting it; I don’t know.”

“Oh yeah, your—speech is today, isn’t it?”

“It is.” When they reached the junction, they stopped, and Jess went on, “If it’s too much right now, I totally get it; Ani already looked over it, but I’d really like to get your opinion on it, too, if you get a moment.”

Clay nodded. “Yeah, of course. Send it to me.”

Jess took his wrist briefly. “Thank you,” she uttered, and started down the hall. Looking back, she said, “Maybe its awfulness will be enough to distract you for a little while, too!”

Clay gave a laugh. “Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad!”

He went on to his locker, and then to first. After making his way through that, he went to find Tony at his locker.

“Hey,” Clay greeted.

“Hey,” his friend echoed. “What’s up?”

Sighing, Clay replied, “So, there was kind of a development last night.” When Tony gaped at him, he, Clay, quickly let out, “Spoiler alert: nothing’s changed, really.”

He thumbed his backpack straps. “Basically, I caught my mom trying to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night, and I kinda—lost my head, a little.”

Tony gave him a sympathetic look. “You thought that was it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did,” Clay confirmed. “She tried to talk me out of it, and my dad, too, but I didn’t listen, and so we ended up all going down to the police station together.”

“What—was that like?” Tony asked. “Did you have to wait, or…?”

“No, Alex’s dad was pretty much right there, waiting for us.”

Tony blew out a breath. “Shit, Clay. I haven’t even thought about… How does something like that work?”

“Well—we never saw an actual body, don’t worry. Just—pictures. Standall had pictures, and he showed them to us. It wasn’t Justin.”

“So the body was that bad, was it?”

“I’m assuming,” Clay offered, “but all we saw was a tattoo—and that was enough to know for sure.”

Tony patted his shoulder, then squeezed it. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, man.”

“Thanks,” Clay said. “But—I guess—it could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

“How are you feeling now?” Tony asked, pulling a binder from his locker.

Clay took a moment to think. “I think—I’m okay, all things considered. I mean, last night was pretty much a trial run—”

“It won’t come to that,” Tony interrupted.

“No, yeah,” Clay agreed, nodding, “I know. I’m just saying…this kind of feels like a turning point, you know? Like the police really are onto something; or that Justin will turn up soon. I’m starting to really believe it, now.”

Tony patted his back. “Good—as you should. No word on the private investigator front?”

“Nope.”

“Has she ghosted you?”

“No, she’s been in touch—but it’s all just to say that, ‘nothing’s new,’ basically.”

The warning bell rang, and so they said goodbye before Clay went off for second. He later stumbled across Alex before lunch, who made a point to stop as Clay was going to the cafeteria.

“Hey,” Alex said, “I know Jess talked to you already, but I wanted to say sorry myself.”

Clay shook his head. “Seriously, it’s not your fault. Don’t stress about it.”

“Still—you shouldn’t have gone through that. It was unnecessary and bullshit.”

Clay managed a brief smile. “Yeah, but I’m feeling all right, honestly.”

He gestured towards Alex’s leg. “No cane, today? Is that new?”

“Yeah, I’m—giving it a shot. It’s been okay for the most part, but I’m still a little iffy at times.”

“Your PT tell you to do that?”

“She said to try it,” Alex said, shrugging. “Anyway, I told my dad to funnel anything like that about Justin to me, first. Honestly—so many of us could’ve ID’ed Justin’s tattoos; there’s no reason it had to have been you for that.”

Clay nodded. “Thanks, man.”

They said goodbye, and Clay went on to the cafeteria. He found Zach, Scott, and Ani already at a table, and joined them after getting a tray of chicken tenders, veg, and juice.

“Clay!” Ani greeted brightly as he sat. “Scott was just telling me—you read _AKR,_ too? How have you never mentioned this?”

“Whoa, seriously?” Clay said, grinning.

Scott smirked briefly at Ani. “Be warned, Clay—she’s not a Percy stan.”

“What?” Clay exclaimed as Ani gently backhanded Scott’s arm.

Zach sighed dramatically, then laughed. “Oh my God, how am I suddenly outnumbered by nerds?”

As they went on talking through lunch, it was over before Clay knew it, and it wasn’t because he’d lost time—it was because he could actually engage…for the first time in a while. A bittersweet twinge fluttered inside his chest as he, Clay, went on to his next period, but he realized, _maybe this isn’t a bad thing. Justin will be back; I just need to…keep going._

Once the day was over, and Clay was on his way back home, he felt a certain…lightness as he drove. It wasn’t normalcy— _definitely not—_ but it was a different shade of it.

_Actually_ …could it have been—hope? Although Clay couldn’t answer that question, he did chuckle to himself when he came home to find his dad’s Prius in the driveway.

Clay walked inside, and made a point to greet him in the study; his dad was already up—like he was going to meet him, Clay, halfway.

“You’re home early,” Clay remarked.

His father nodded. “I am, indeed. I felt like I—deserved an early day.”

Clay nodded as well, giving a flat smile. “So you’re—totally not here to check up on me, then.”

Sighing a laugh, his dad said, “A happy coincidence. Say—did you feel like pizza tonight? I’ve got a craving for junk food, so if you’re up for it, too, I see no reason not to indulge.”

“I was thinking of maybe heading over to Scott’s, later, but yeah, pizza sounds good.”

“Great,” his dad said, and smiled briefly before sobering his expression.

“You sure you’re okay, son?”

Slowly, Clay nodded, again. “Yeah, I’m okay, I think.”

Clay went upstairs, and opened the door to his room.

He found _Justin in the side chair, dressed in his hoodie and jeans._ Clay felt his body temperature plunge as a wave of euphoria smashed into him.

“Justin,” he, Clay, breathed.

When _his boyfriend met his gaze_ , Clay leapt for him—only to nearly stumble, and barely maintain his balance before landing with a heavy step.

Justin _vanished._

The side chair _was_ _empty._

“What…” Clay sighed.

He looked towards the bed—where he saw Justin once more…his clothes and face and hair suddenly covered in dirt all over—and with blood now running down his forehead and the side of his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Justin uttered.

A siren ramped up sharply inside of his, Clay’s _(Clay’s?)_ head… _then all the forest trees vaporized in a massive shockwave, splitting the earth open, leaving only dust…_ while an impossible pain _grief anguish shock horror heartbreak devastation death_ broke him, Clay.

_(Clay?)_

_(CLAY?)_

_(WHY CLAY?)_

_(WHY?)_

Clay screamed.


	8. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay struggles with a new discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up for this chapter...I suppose! (?)

The church is packed with people, but Clay is all by himself at the front row. He’s dressed in black…in his finest suit.

The casket on stage has a frozen centerpiece of flowers atop it, and that centerpiece sits on a finely woven quilt of sparkling golden thread draped across the carved, mahogany box.

Sam wears a minister’s vestments at the podium as he speaks.

_“We have faced a systematic failure on every level: social workers, doctors, police, teachers, friends, parents…family. How much more are we going to put our children through in this society? Why do we continue to fail—each and every day—to make things better for their future? Why are we_ choosing _to do nothing?”_

Jess steps towards Clay, and when he looks at her, she takes a seat beside him. She regards him tearfully, and Clay holds her hand.

Sam goes on, _“Is there anyone that would like to speak?”_

The pew, and the church, is now empty; Clay is alone, and he cannot move. All he can see…is that closed casket on stage—with its centerpiece of _flowers now melting, and turning black…_

Clay wakes with a start, seeing only darkness. As his eyes adjust, he takes in the moonlight spilling through the window, and looked across the room to see Justin on the couch, wearing his letterman jacket.

“Damn, Clay,” he remarked with a smirk, “that’s cold. You not even gonna say anything at my funeral?”

Clay looks back towards the ceiling and stares into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

“Clay! Clay!”

Looking towards his dad in the doorway—finally—Clay glanced back at the bed. Justin was gone…again.

“What happened?” his dad exclaimed.

Swallowing, Clay attempted to clear his throat and tried to steady his breathing. “Umm, nothing…nothing,” he breathed.

“Son, that—scream was _bloodcurdling,”_ his dad insisted, taking a few steps towards him. “That was _not_ nothing.”

Clay cleared his throat again. “Yeah, um, sorry,” he offered, shaking his head. “I—I’ve been doing that…sometimes. After school, you know? Just, just to—to let it out, right? I had, uh, a total brain fart…that you were home. Sorry.”

“Don’t lie to him, Clay,” Justin said, appearing atop the bed once more in his nightwear, sitting with his legs crossed.

Clay averted his gaze just briefly, then looked back towards his dad, who didn’t seem convinced. “Well, I suppose—better out than in, as they say.”

“Exactly,” Clay said, attempting a smile.

“Can I get you anything?”

Clay shook his head, and sniffled. “No, no—thank you. I’m fine, really.”

Reluctantly, his dad turned and walked out of the room. Once he was on the stairs, Clay shot towards the door and quickly shut it before looking back towards the bed.

Not-Justin was still there, still in his pajamas.

Clay felt his heart rate rising again, and he started to tremble. “You do _not_ get to fucking do this,” he spat.

Not-Justin shrugged. “I’m sorry, Clay.”

“Don’t.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I’m worried about you.”

Clay reached down for his shoe and ripped it off to fling towards the bed. Not-Justin had vanished right as he, Clay, had thrown it.

“Fucking _come back_ to me, then!” he hissed. “Come back to me! Don’t pull this _shit!”_

When the room remained silent, and Justin didn’t appear again anywhere, Clay leaned back against the door—his composure fast disintegrating.

_No…no, no, no, no—no…_

Clay gradually slid down towards the floor as he broke down in tears.

~ ~ ~

Clay feels the anxiety clamping down on him from the moment he wakes up. It’s different, now…not like it has been, before. He feels not just a weighted tightness in his chest, but also as a pressure in his arms and legs…a tightness, or ache, in his wrists and ankles. He’s hyper-aware of his breathing…as nearly every breath feels heavier with every expansion and contraction of his chest.

But he, Clay, gets out of bed—anyway. _I…_ cannot _sit with this all day…_ He goes through his routine, he eats; he tries to convince himself he isn’t about to have a heart attack or an aneurysm or drop dead… _This is all in my head; psychosomatic…_

“It goes both ways, you know,” not-Justin said, leaning against the fridge in his sweats while Clay sat at the kitchen table. “Mind over matter.”

Clay says nothing in return. He dresses; he leaves for school.

“Please talk to me,” not-Justin said in the passenger seat beside him, dressed like he’s actually going to school.

_This is not happening._

“It might not be, but you will feel better,” not-Justin went on.

_This is not happening._

“Clay—I’m worried about you. You cannot…keep on like this. Please.”

Clay swallows. _This is not happening._

“Fear is the mind-killer,” not-Justin chanted, “but what’s happening to you—will _literally_ kill you.”

“Stop,” Clay pleads.

“You wanted me to come back to you…”

Clay slams his hand against the empty seat, his rage nearly suffocating him. _Not like this._

When he reaches Liberty, Clay parks, and heads inside. He makes it through first, then second, but nothing sticks. He, Clay, goes through the motions, but cannot focus. The more he tries not to think about what he’s feeling…the more the tightness and the aches worsen.

The bell rings, and it’s lunchtime. _Already?_ Clay gets up to leave the classroom and head to his locker, but he begins to feel dizzy.

_No—no, no, no…_

_It’s coming._

_What’s coming?_

_Run._

_Stop!  
_

_Go._

_Stay!_

It gets harder and harder to breathe. _No…_ Clay misses a step, and stumbles against the wall. _No…_ The tightness in his chest—starts to _hurt._ Alarms, klaxons, begin sounding from deep within his being. _No no no…_

He _(Clay?)_ finds himself before a door—the janitor’s closet; _supply closet._ He grabs the handle, and it unlocks; the door opens. Clay stumbles inside, shutting the door—and enters into the darkness.

_Fear is the mind-killer. I must not fear._

He can’t breathe. _I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!_ He finds the wall, and lets himself fall to the floor. Those alarms inside of him start to give way to ringing in his ears, and he hears a voice echoing inside his head…gasping for air.

_Clay?_

_Oh God I’m dying I’m dying this is it I’m dying I’m dying this is it I’m dying this is it this is it please no help me please please help me_

_Clay?_

Light blinds him, and everything hits him all at once. He’s bent in half, on the floor, sobbing between gasps for air while his heart thumps repeatedly against his chest. Sheri brings him upright, helping him to sit up—before gripping his shoulders and giving them a firm squeeze.

“Clay? Can you hear me? It’s Sheri! Can you hear me?”

He almost sees her…but his head is light, and his vision is blurred. “Sheri?”

“Clay,” she says, squeezing his shoulders again; _she sounds far away._ “I think you’re having a panic attack. Can you listen to me? Listen to my voice—follow me, okay?” He, Clay, manages to nod. “I’m gonna count to three, then back to one; we’re gonna breathe together, okay? In—then out. In—and out. You’re gonna be fine. Ready? Just close your eyes; I’m right here.”

Sheri takes his hand. “In—one…two…three. Out—three…two…one…”

Clay follows her, and soon manages to squeeze her hand back. She continues counting—back…and forth; back…and forth… Eventually, that awful pain his chest fades, and those alarms blare themselves out, dissipating into whistles.

He opens his eyes…and sees Sheri kneeling before him. She looks back at him intently, and with tempered concern.

“Are you with me, Clay?” she asks.

Exhaling deeply, he, Clay, replies, “Yeah, I’m—I’m here.”

“Here,” she goes on, prompting him to his feet, and helps him stand. “Let’s get out of this closet.”

Sheri opens the door, and Clay follows her out.

~ ~ ~

“You need a distraction,” Justin says.

Clay remains silent.

“Come on, babe,” Justin goes on, appearing on the edge of the bed, “don’t give me the quiet treatment.”

Turning onto his side, Clay kept silent.

“Come on,” Justin purred, “just pull down those sweatpants; I’ll do the rest…”

_“No,”_ Clay grunted.

“It’ll be just like the real thing—with how good your imagination is…”

_“No,”_ Clay repeated.

Justin appeared on the other side, kneeling beside the bed before Clay. “How’s this any different from the last time? When I was locked up?”

Clay turned onto his back. “You know how.”

“Babe, you shouldn’t be ashamed—you have needs; it’s been far too long…”

Justin appeared above him…and Clay could almost imagine his warmth—if he just reached out to touch him…

“No,” Clay cried out, flipping onto his stomach…as his dick hardened against the mattress.

“You need release,” not-Justin insisted, appearing beside the desk. “Keep it all in like this—and you’ll explode.”

Clay shut his eyes and buried his face into his pillow.

~ ~ ~

_“Are you out of your mind? No!”_

_“Dude, listen—you know my body’s a temple, right?”_

_“I don’t_ ever _think about your body…”_

Jeff takes a seat on the pool table. He smiles. _“That so, Jensen?”_ He grips the pool cue between his legs.

Clay swallows. _“What does_ that _mean?”_

Jeff smirks briefly before sobering his expression. _“What I_ mean— _is you know how healthy I am.”_

_“You’re an athlete!”_

_“Yeah—and a_ damn _good one. But on the rare occasion when I want a deep,_ lovely _night with my lady…we’ll do a little love drug.”_

_“I’ve read that that shit can, can—fry your brain, like, first time you try it.”_

_“Yeah—and riding your bike without a helmet can kill you. But which one’s gonna help you_ let loose _and help you get past your shit with Hannah? Hmm?”_

Clay scoffs. _“This is peer pressure!”_

Jeff smirks again. _“No—but you wanna know what_ real _peer pressure is?”_

He steps towards Clay, closing the gap between them. Freaked, Clay wants, instinctively, to step back…but he doesn’t move.

_“Wha…what are you doing?”_

Jeff’s smile broadens. _“You put too much pressure on yourself. I mean—is that the whole point? For you to…_ agonize _over every decision?”_

Clay can barely breathe. Jeff smells so, so good. _“I…I do not,”_ he utters.

_“Then show me,”_ Jeff dares.

Clay…reaches up, and pulls their mouths together. His heart explodes, and heat burns all across his body—so he has no idea what to do next—but luckily, mercifully, Jeff takes the lead…and starts coaxing their lips along.

When his friend starts to slip in a little tongue, Clay pulls back, his heart pounding. _“Oh my god,”_ he sighs.

Grinning, Jeff picks him up and sits him on the pool table, drawing a yelp from Clay. _“What!”_

Jeff merely tapers his grin into a smirk. _“I knew you had some balls, Clay. For that—you deserve a reward.”_

He kisses Clay again to keep him from speaking, and Jeff starts to shove their lips around as he works his tongue into the fray. He reaches down to unbutton Clay’s jeans—and then undo the zipper…

_“What…what are you doing?”_ Clay manages.

Jeff presses their foreheads together, and they inhale each other’s warm, sweet breaths. _“Never thought I’d offer, did ya?”_

He reaches down into Clay’s underwear—grasping, hard, his firm erection. _“Oh my god…”_ Clay lets out.

_“I’d like to see what it’s like to taste,”_ Jeff utters. _“Will you do me that pleasure, Clay?”_

Clay cannot speak, at first. _“Yes, yes…”_

Jeff takes his response with another open-mouthed kiss, then slowly sinks to his knees. He gazes up at Clay, who trembles as he meets his friend’s eyes and as Jeff licks the head of his cock—before gradually drawing it inside of his mouth. Warmth and pleasure and euphoria surges inside of Clay…and he can’t help but throw his head back as he gently grips Jeff’s hair.

Jeff _knows_ what he’s doing…and he’s _fucking amazing_ at it…

_“Oh god, Jeff…oh my god…”_

The heat builds rapidly inside his crotch—from deep within his balls straight to every nerve across his body. Clay opens his eyes…and Jeff’s basement fades away—but the coming orgasm surges through his dick as he lets out a shout.

He, Clay, realizes he’s flat against his bed again—on his back—and the darkness snuffs out his vision briefly before he sees the moonlight filling his room once more. As his nerves rapidly burned out and as he regained control of his breathing, Clay also realized—while flinging his sheets off his body—his underwear, and his pajama bottoms…were soaked…

He looked down at his crotch; he was still hard, and the stains were evident even in the darkness. Clay inhaled deeply before letting out a long, tired sigh.

_“Damn,_ Clay…”

Jolting, Clay looked towards the couch to see Justin there, again, this time in his nightwear. He looked tearful, and his voice shook slightly.

“You can fantasize about Jeff—but not _me?”_

Clay choked out a sob before springing off the bed and towards the closet. He ripped off his pajamas and underwear before grabbing a towel.

“I— _fucking_ love you,” Clay uttered as he attempted to clean himself off. “You’re not—just some _sex dream_ I can just wack off to!”

“But you’ll still come with someone who’s dead, is that right?” Justin sneered.

Clay turned and glared at Justin…not-Justin. “Fuck you.”

Justin was beside him—and Clay could almost feel _his heat next to him_ (the heat surging down his back). He whispered in Clay’s ear, “We can do the next best thing.”

Clay turns, and he reaches for Justin…and he can almost feel _the warmth of his boyfriend’s skin._ He _brings their lips together,_ and he can almost _taste his boyfriend’s soft, playful, and sweet tongue._ Clay reaches down to stroke his own dick back to fruition as he _pushes Justin against the couch, bringing their naked bodies together._

_“Fuck me,” Justin pleads._

Clay strokes his erection furiously as _he lifts Justin’s ankles high into the air near his own head—exposing his boyfriend’s lovely, lovely underside—before bringing the head of his own dick towards that opening, and Justin yields to him completely, easily, and Clay has never felt such wonderful, warm tightness around his manhood before…_

_“Fuck me, baby,” Justin insists. “Fuck me like you love me…”_

_Clay finds his rhythm, letting instinct take over, and Justin is moaning beautifully below him as he, Clay, pumps_ into his fist. He pauses briefly to spit into his hand before quickly resuming and he _leans over Justin to take those lovely moans directly into his mouth…_

_That inevitability returns_ before Clay knows it, and he comes into his hand once again with another grunt and shout. He continued to stroke himself while reclaiming his breathing…and looked down to discover a sizable amount of come dripping off of his palm.

Justin was lying back on the couch, shirtless, and shoeless, with just his jeans on. “See, babe? I knew you had it in you.” He grinned at Clay.

Shaking his head, Clay knelt down to grab the towel he’d dropped and wiped off his junk and his hand once more. “It’s not the same,” he uttered. “Nothing—like the real thing.”

Justin shrugged. “You were pent up. That shit’s gotta come out, one way or the other.”

Clay pulled on a fresh pair of underwear before heading over to the couch; Justin vanished as soon as he sat.

Sighing, Clay lay across the cushions—only to spot Justin on the bed…naked, and _so fucking beautiful._

“Come on,” not-Justin coaxed, “you’re not gonna spend the rest of the night there, are you?”

Clay looked back towards the ceiling. “I don’t have a choice,” he uttered.

_Nothing at all like the real thing._

~ ~ ~

Water is essential to life. Without water, life would not exist on earth. Water requires an atmosphere, which requires gravity, which requires a planet of a specific size…which needs a specific metallic core to generate a magnetic field, which shields that atmosphere from being picked off, molecule by molecule over millions of years, by solar radiation from the sun…

Life would not exist without the sun. Yet, while it destroys life everywhere else in the solar system, Earth is in that one-in-a-million spot in just the right place at just the right time with just the right alliances within the rest of the solar system to miraculously, uniquely, sustain life in an infinitely vast and desolate solar wasteland…

Maybe there is life that exists in a way we do not understand. Maybe there is no other life at all. If all the falling raindrops represent the chance of life forming somewhere in the universe, is it an apt metaphor, then, for all of those raindrops to share the same fate? An eventual return to the sky to fall again?

_Clay._

Rain never sticks. It becomes water on the ground—

_Clay!_

—and becomes—

_“Clay!”_

It hits him all at once, like a fall off a cliff. Clay stumbles, nearly, only for Scott to catch him. The guy is holding an umbrella above them, and the sound of the rain all around them brings Clay back to the sidewalk—and the storm booming above them that was in the process of swallowing them both.

“What are you doing out here?” Scott demanded, nearly shrieking. “It’s fucking _pouring_ out here!”

Shaking his head, Clay could not answer him. “I… Scott?” He could barely breathe.

_“Please_ come with me!” Scott cried. He prompts Clay to turn around, and when he does, Scott brings his, Clay’s, arm around his shoulder and starts to practically carry him along.

Clay realizes they’re both barefoot, and both in their pajamas. He also realizes, _I’m so fucking cold;_ he was trembling.

They continued to walk; or rather…Clay continued to lean on Scott as they stumbled forward. Scott carried the umbrella above them, even though they were both already soaked. It slowed them down, but Clay was grateful for it; _I might be fucking drowning right now without it…_

“Scott,” Clay breathes.

“Hang on, Clay—you’re okay. We’re almost there; almost out of the rain.”

Despite the uncertainty of where they were headed, he, Clay, kept going, nevertheless.

~ ~ ~

The vast view is breathtaking, and the water is mirror-like against the moon. Thunder rumbles in the distance, yet there isn’t a raindrop in sight.

_The path of least resistance…_ The shortest distance between two points is a line, but do straight lines really exist outside of the theoretical? Not across the translation of spheres and planes; a circle, by definition, can only intersect a line at its perimeter at a single point.

Math gives a framework to view the world, but reality is rarely ever so precise, or so perfect. Tolerances exist in varying scales, and acceptance of these often imperceptible imperfections does not preclude a sense of truth.

Electricity runs through the human body. It allows the heart to beat regularly. It has always been with us, though it may only have been utilized and generated within a relatively recent history of time…a raindrop in the ocean of the universe. _Nothing created, nor destroyed…_

Everything is preserved…the conservation of mass and energy; materials and waves dancing together in the everything of existence. _Nothing created, nothing destroyed…only transferred._

Perhaps, then, everything that has always existed, will exist—and will continue to exist…in one form or another. We take in and borrow and put back within the environment matter and energy, in their essence, that have always been around…that have always _been;_ that _are. Period. No beginning, and no end._

_No beginning, and no end._

_We all fall down._


	9. The Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay gets a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *it's been 84 years*
> 
> I admit, since I haven't made as much progress as I've wanted, I've slowed down the rate I'm going to post. Fortunately, with the (US) elections out of the way, I'm hopeful the pace of things will improve!
> 
> The next 3 chapters are going to be a tad shorter but plot dense, and closely tied together. It may be worth reading through them all again once they're all posted. :)

Clay felt the rapid, irregular vibrations of his phone within his pocket; Justin’s vibration pattern for his texts is unmistakable. Carefully, he, Clay, reaches down to slide his phone from his pocket.

_Help_

_Help_

_SOS SOS_

_Locker room help_

Heat burning across his shoulders and face, Clay takes a moment to think… _What on earth?_ That moment with Scott had been life-or-death; _what could be happening to Justin, now?_

Not daring to think through the possibilities, Clay shot up from his desk and grabbed his things; the period was nearly over, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Anderson,” he offered, shooting for the door, “I’m about to be sick.”

His pre-calc teacher didn’t try to stop him, Clay, as he swung the door open and broke out into the hallway. Clay made straight for the gym, and tried to lengthen and deepen his breaths as he scurried across the school to lower his elevated, panicked heart rate. He’d tried to anticipate the worst…and somehow, the sight of his boyfriend curled into a ball on the locker-room floor—sobbing—still rent his heart in two.

“Justin? Oh my god…”

The kid quieted, then looked up towards him…before practically lunging at him as he, Clay, knelt beside him. Justin clutched him like the world was about to end, and began sobbing once more against his shoulder. Barely able to fathom his boyfriend’s pain, Clay tried to hold him…but Justin was heartbreakingly inconsolable.

“Justin, are you… What—what happened? You’re scaring me…”

His boyfriend simply cried. Clay embraced him more strongly. “Hey—you’re okay. It’s all right; you’re okay.”

“No,” Justin finally said, “it’s not okay.” When he drew back, he sniffled, and rubbed his eyes. “It’s definitely not okay.”

Clay swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

The kid was silent for a moment; he seemed unable to look back at him, Clay.

“He’s got her,” Justin let out beneath his breath.

“Who’s got who?” Clay pressed. When his boyfriend didn’t respond, Clay reached to take the kid’s shoulders. “Hey, look at me—who’s got who?”

When Justin met his eyes, Clay felt his heart break all over again; his boyfriend looked so scared, so defeated, so _alone_ …Clay would have given _everything_ to never see such agony afflict his love ever again.

“Seth,” Justin whispered, “he’s got her.”

~ ~ ~

_Ten grand._ The number loomed in Clay’s mind like an eclipse. He sat through third and fourth largely in a daze as he tried to decipher the potentialities. _So many outcomes, so few choices…_ Initially, he’d felt overwhelmed; however, as he proceeded to the cafeteria, Clay saw the threads of a potential plan start to interlace into a sensible design.

He started texting Alex along the way: _Seth Massey, does that name ring a bell for you?_

Alex’s reply came almost immediately; _No, who is that?_

_Justin’s mom’s boyfriend_   
_Or ex-boyfriend_

_Wait, the guy Porter assaulted?_   
_Yes, it does, why?_

_He’s back_   
_And he might be holding Justin’s mom for ransom_

At that, Alex called him, and Clay tried his best to succinctly explain the situation.

“Jesus Christ,” Alex sighed. “Do you think it’s possible it’s…bullshit?”

“I don’t know,” Clay admitted, stepping into the cafeteria, “but we don’t have a lot of time. Justin thinks Seth might have someone on the inside; a cop, maybe, helping him. Do you think you could try _visiting_ your dad at the station again and…see what you can find out?”

“I’ll try…but my dad’s really grown weary of my random visits.”

“Please—whatever you can do.”

They ended the call, and Clay spotted Zach and Scott at a table as he lined up to get his lunch. After opting for the first things he saw (a tuna sandwich, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a juice pouch), Clay sat beside Scott and in front of Zach at their table.

“Hey, man,” Scott greeted, “you okay? You looked…stressed.”

“Yeah,” Clay said, looking towards Zach, who met his gaze. “I need your help.”

Furrowing his brow, Zach said, “What’s up?”

“How much do you know about Justin’s mom’s boyfriend—or whatever—Seth?”

Dempsey shook his head. “Not a whole lot; just that…he was probably a dealer, or something.”

“And he beat up Mr. Porter, didn’t he?” Scott added.

“Yeah, that was him,” Clay confirmed, glancing briefly towards Scott. “Look,” he continued towards Zach, “he showed up at school today, and confronted Justin—and he says he’s got Justin’s mom hostage somewhere, holding her for ransom.”

“Holy shit,” Zach let out.

“What the hell?” Scott spat.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Clay went on. “Justin still has a little over two thousand dollars—what he’d taken from Seth—and I should still have about the same amount in cash.”

“Wait,” Zach interjected, “you’re…jumping straight to _paying_ the guy, and, not—I dunno— _calling the cops_?”

“Alex’s dad and another cop came to the house last night,” Clay said. “It’s a long story, but—Seth _knew_ we’d talked to the cops, somehow. Justin thinks that means Seth has someone on the inside, and honestly—I think he might be right. I called Alex, and he’s gonna look into it after school.”

Zach audibly sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. “How much was he demanding?”

“Ten grand,” Clay replied.

“Jesus,” Scott breathed.

Zach let out a brief laugh. “Seriously? The fuck? Why would he think Justin would even have that much?”

“He’s probably been stalking him,” Clay said, “or… _us;_ our family. He probably knows where we live, and he’s probably making a lot of assumptions.”

Dempsey shook his head. “Clay, I—I don’t know if I can get that much; not without my mom knowing, at least.”

“Whatever you can do,” Clay insisted, “please.”

When Clay caught Scott’s gaze, the guy said, “I’ve got about five-hundred in cash I can get to you.”

Shaking his head, Clay began, “No, man, I…I wasn’t trying to start a pool or anything like that.”

“So you think _I_ would just have that kind of money lying around?” Zach retorted.

Clay regarded him, suddenly sheepish as he felt his face burn. “I mean…out of everyone…”

“Look,” Dempsey went on, “I will help Justin however I can; but if you want to close the gap for sure, there’s—someone else who could probably help.”

They stared at each other for a tense moment before Clay finally scoffed, “You can’t be serious.”

“Bryce?” Scott posed.

Zach sat back, and ate a French fry. “Listen, the thought of crawling to him for help rattles my stomach, too, but—I have to admit—he will probably still help Justin…if he asks.”

_“No,”_ Clay spat. “I’ve—I’ve got other angles we can work. We don’t need Bryce. Whatever you can come up with—I will pay you back.”

Zach shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it,” he said, sitting forward again over his tray. “I’ll see what I can come up with; I’ll let you know.”

“And seriously,” Scott said, “come by my house, okay? Justin can have it, all right? No questions.”

Clay let out a deep breath. “Thank you, both,” he said, looking between them.

Eating another fry, Zach eyed Clay. “What are these ‘other angles’ you’re planning to work, then?”

Clay sat back, then finally took a bite of his sandwich. “Honestly, they’re all probably a Hail Mary, anyway…”

~ ~ ~

Clay awakens when he hears the footsteps down the hall; a brisk knock on the door soon follows.

“Clay? Honey?”

Somehow…he, Clay, had fallen asleep; he was on top of the bed, on top of his comforter, and still in his school clothes. He last remembered…staring up at the ceiling—at his galaxy poster…

“It’s open,” Clay croaks.

His mom opened the door and stepped inside. When she saw him on the bed, she said, “Have you been asleep since you got home?”

“No, I was just…shutting my eyes for a moment.”

Justin appeared on the couch in his letterman jacket. “Don’t lie to her, Clay.” He, Clay, ignores him.

“Have you thought about what we discussed this morning?” his mother went on.

_This morning… Who cares when it is, anyway?_

“Dr. Ellman,” Justin interjected, “seeing him, Clay. And it _wasn’t_ just this morning.”

“Not really,” Clay grunts.

His mom takes a step towards the bed. “Well, sweetheart, he has an opening tomorrow afternoon, but we really need to—”

“I _don’t_ need to see him, mom,” Clay cuts her off, and starts to rub his face.

“Clay,” his mom persisted, “even if you don’t feel like—”

“Justin is still gone!” Clay shouts, flinging up his hands. “What good is it gonna do me to gripe about that to someone?”

“Clay,” not-Justin blurted, “you’ve got to come clean about what you’re going through.”

“This would hardly be griping,” his mom said. “What you’re feeling is valid and…can be a lot to handle. Dr. Ellman could help you—”

“He’s not gonna help me find Justin,” Clay sneers, covering his face again, “or bring him back.” He presses his eyes with his palms, mainly to keep himself from having to see his mom…or not-Justin.

Clay hears another step, then feels the bed sink slightly. “Sweetheart,” his mom began.

Letting out a long sigh, Clay utters, “Look, I’ll make you a deal, mom—let this lie for tonight, and I will come down for dinner with you and dad. Sound like a plan?”

His mom didn’t answer for a moment; Clay then hears her sniffle before she says, “All right,” and feels the bed shift again as she gets up. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

After Clay hears her step out of the room, he turns onto his side away from not-Justin on the couch.

“You know how much this is hurting her, right?” Justin said. “Seeing you suffer like this?”

“You’re one to talk,” Clay utters. “You’re the one who fucking left me…”

When there is no response, he, Clay, turns to look towards the couch; it’s empty.

He looks back towards the ceiling…and doesn’t try anymore to suppress the tears.

~ ~ ~

_You_ gave her _Justin’s_ phone?

Clay didn’t expect the conversation with his parents to go well; however, he did think telling them proactively would stave off an angry response _._

_I’ve already looked through it_ …

As his mom fumed, his dad shook his head. _Seriously, Clay—again, with this?_

_I’m, I’m sorry!_ _I…I didn’t really think I would actually go, but then she contacted me, and I went…and—she was pretty convincing._

_So_ Bryce _hired her?_ _I didn’t mishear you._

_Yes, mom, he’s footing the bill…but she says she’s reporting to me—to us, really!_

_I want to speak to her. You have her information?_

_Yes, mom…_

He’d given it to her, and, to his surprise, she had been placated after speaking to the PI. It’d given Clay _some_ hope that he’d ultimately made the right call, but as the PI sat at the dining table before them, now—just like when he, Clay, had first told his parents about her—his queasiness and his anxiety was making it hard to sit still.

“There was a lead buried in Justin’s e-mails,” Isabella stated. “It appears his mother— _had_ tried to contact him.”

Clay felt his heart stop as his mom asked, simply, “When?”

“It was received the Sunday evening before he was taken.”

“So nearly a week?” his dad clarified.

“Yes,” the PI confirmed. “However…it was unread—as was the vast majority of his e-mails.”

“How did I miss it?” Clay asked.

Isabella regarded him with a sympathetic look. “Well, it’s not like it was signed or from Amber Foley at gmail-dot-com. It looked like a throwaway address, with what I have found to be a prepaid number.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a tablet before starting to tap and swipe across its screen. “I attempted a trace on that number, and it was how I confirmed her whereabouts at the rehabilitation clinic, but I did not get another hit until yesterday evening.”

She slid the tablet down the table as Clay and his parents leaned in to look. Clay saw what was clearly surveillance footage of a woman wearing a scarf and sunglasses inside a gas station, and that woman was standing beside a man with a now-buzzed haircut but whose stature did appear very familiar.

“The number popped up within the area when the phone pinged a local cell tower,” Isabella went on. “After sharing this information with the deputy, we found these photos. This was along Highway Forty.”

As she scrolled through the images, the sinking feeling in Clay’s stomach grew deeper…and deeper.

“Justin’s not in any of these,” Clay uttered.

“The images are blurry,” the PI replied, “but the police and I are confident these two are Amber and Seth. The fact that Justin isn’t clearly in any of the footage is nothing to base any conclusions on yet.”

Clay had curled both his hands into fists before his forehead as he leaned against the table. His mom asked, “So this is the first confirmed sighting, then?”

“Yes, so it appears,” Isabella confirmed.

She went on to show pictures of the vehicle they left in, but Clay had fast begun tuning out the rest; Justin wasn’t in the car either, and he let his parents prod Isabella for more answers.

_Oh my fucking god…_

Clay didn’t think he could feel even emptier, more dejected, or more hopeless…

_Where are you, Justin?_

_Where the fuck are you?_


	10. The Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay gets lost, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been another 84 years...
> 
> Progress has been negligible, unfortunately, on the part that follows this one, but the US has a new president, a new administration, and I am feeling hope again after a dark four years! If there's another update soon, it may be the last one for a while until the chapter after next, as that will begin the last big arc of this part. I want to save it and have enough buffer material until there's significant progress on Part 9.
> 
> In truth, before now, I've been consistently working on this series for the better part of two years. I appreciate you being here. I hope it'll be worth the wait!

“And now I’d like to introduce our next candidate for Liberty president—Jessica Davis.”

Clay clapped with everyone else as Courtney yielded the podium to arguably polite but lackluster applause. As Jess stepped up to the mic—right below the banner proclaiming STUDENT BODY ELECTIONS and _Speak up and make your voice heard!—_ Clay tried to suppress the anxiety bubbling up in his stomach as he watched the spotlight shine on Jess onstage.

_Speech is great,_ he’d texted her. _You’re gonna kill it._

“My name is Jessica Davis. I’m running for president because—I want change. I don’t mean better dances, or new cheer uniforms…”

“Sexy!” a voice cried out near the front; Clay suspected it was one of the jocks before he spotted Zach reach across to slap at someone a few chairs down his row.

“Seriously?” a girl exclaimed as additional chuckles broke out.

“…new cheer uniforms,” Jess repeated, trying to continue, “or—healthy choices in the vending machines. I mean real _change_.”

“Bitch!” another voice blurted—definitely near the front—to more raucous laughter.

Clay felt his own face burn as he saw Jess’ momentary expression of shock twist into amusement.

“You know what?” Jess snapped. _“Fuck you,_ Diego!” Clay inhaled deeply as the auditorium burst into _oohs_ and laughter and groans. “Fuck— _all_ of you jocks!”

As the heckling died down, and the auditorium fell silent, Clay swallowed. _Definitely—off-script…_

Jess continued to stare out into the audience.

“I was _raped,”_ she finally said, “by the _king_ of this school, and I stayed silent. I _protected_ the jock who raped me because…I don’t know! Because—I thought it would hurt more to speak up… Because—I thought it would ruin my reputation; but I am no longer staying quiet. _No_ more.”

Jess exhaled a brief laugh. “So here’s _my_ promise: if you elect me, I _will_ take down the jocks at this school—put an _end_ to their _bullshit_. I will _not_ tolerate the ones who protect them, and I will _demand_ that their victims no longer remain silent—because their silence—destroys us all.”

Powerful applause erupted, and Clay noticed a girl standing up to leave. _Was that…Chloe?_ He couldn’t be sure from where he was sitting, but he then saw Zach finish animatedly scolding someone else in a letterman jacket before also appearing to notice the same girl leaving the auditorium. Dempsey soon got up to follow her before the applause ended, and the final candidate made his speech; naturally, Jess was a tough act to follow.

Clay met up with her after the assembly finished, and as he approached her backstage, Ani was there with Jess, already.

“That was quite—the admission,” Ani was saying.

“Yeah, I’m—sorry,” Jess offered, “you had to find out like that.”

“I suppose it’s not something you really bring up in conversation,” Ani went on, and looked to acknowledge Clay as he came to a stop before them.

Clay said _hey_ before smiling at Jess. “You— _definitely_ killed it. No question.”

Jess forced a laugh. “Oh my God, I, honestly— _don’t_ know where that came from.”

“Well,” Clay said, “more of _that_ , definitely.”

Jess sighed. “Hey, I’ve got to find somebody,” she said, reaching into her purse to pull out her phone. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

She said goodbye to him and Ani before walking away. Ani looked to Clay, and he saw his slight confusion mirrored on her face.

“So,” Ani began, and they started to walk, too, “this— _king_ she mentioned…”

Clay shrugged. “It’s not important; he doesn’t go here anymore.” He gave a flat smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t already know what happened; it was all over the news for a long time.”

“News cycles move fast, and I try not to believe everything I hear or read,” Ani countered, smirking slightly. “Besides—what would someone think…if they believed all of what’s written out there about you?”

Feeling his face burn again, Clay forced a laugh. “Touché; but, what happened to Jess—was _definitely_ real. And if there’s anything good to ever come out of that…I think we saw the beginnings of that, today.”

Clay and Ani stepped out into the hallway with the other kids as they dispersed from the auditorium. “I wanted to ask you at lunch,” Ani said, “but I know this question must be tiresome by now; is there still no news on Justin?”

Clay shook his head. “No, there isn’t.” _No proof that he’s currently dead, anyway…_

They reached a juncture in the hallway and slowed to a stop. “Well,” Ani offered, “for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry this has gone on as long as it has. I still believe, though, he’ll turn up—and soon.”

“Yeah,” Clay agreed, and thanked her before they split off again for class. _If I can get through last night, I’ll get through anything…_

_He’s not dead; he’ll turn up, soon._

Clay tired to cling to that belief as he went through the rest of the day.

~ ~ ~

Scott leads Clay through a door, which lowers the sound of the rain dramatically. After closing the umbrella, he leads Clay to the stairs, and together, they slowly ascend through the darkness. Once they’re through the short hallway, and inside a moonlit room, Scott prompts Clay toward a beanbag chair, and he, Clay, sits. Scott then steps away, and when he returns, he has a few towels in hand.

The guy wraps the first towel around Clay’s shoulders, and with the second, starts to gently dry off his, Clay’s, hair.

Gradually, Clay understands what he’s doing…and slowly reaches upwards to slow Scott’s wrists. When Clay takes hold of them, Scott utters a breathless _sorry_ before letting go of the towel. He, Clay, then releases Scott to grab onto the towel himself.

A voice quietly calls Scott’s name from the hallway. Scott rises quickly to answer it, and when Clay hears the door open, he isn’t able to decipher the hushed conversation that follows.

_They’re…not speaking English._

Clay realized, again, that he was soaked—and shivering. He momentary lost control of his hands as a shudder ran through his body. Scott returned to his side to wrap another towel around him, Clay.

“Hey, hey,” Scott coaxed, “you’re okay. I’m right here.”

“Scott?” Clay managed.

“Yeah,” the guy confirmed with a slight smile, “it’s me.”

Clay gazed at him for a moment while he shivered. “W-were you…speaking Russian?”

_“Da,_ ” Scott replied. “That was my mom, sorry.” He reached to take the towel that had fallen from Clay’s head and began drying him, Clay, off once more. “She doesn’t know you’re here, don’t worry. I made up an excuse about forgetting to roll my window up.”

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. When Scott finished drying his hair off and took the towel from his head, Clay looked towards the sound of the rain pattering against the window.

“Since—since when do you speak Russian?” Clay asked.

Scott gently laughed, and Clay looked back at him. “My mom’s originally from Vladivostok, and my dad grew up in Hamburg, but they’ve both lived here most of their adult lives.”

He began drying his own hair with the towel. “It’s a long story, but they met when they were both still in the military in the late nineties. My mom got pregnant with me, which kept her from being deployed to Afghanistan after nine-eleven, and ultimately married my dad before I was born.

“She’s gotten annoyed at my Russian, so she refuses to speak English to me until it improves.”

Clay managed a chuckle. “Do you speak German, too?”

_“Yah,_ ” Scott intoned, and proceeded to say something else in German that Clay couldn’t possibly follow. When Clay simply stared at him, the guy went on, “I said, I hope that doesn’t freak you out.”

Shaking his head, Clay said, “It doesn’t; I, I was just…”

Scott sobered his expression. “I haven’t seen you at lunch lately.”

Clay couldn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I—I’ve just…had to make up things, these past few days.”

“Why were you out wandering through the rain?” Scott went on.

Clay continued to shake his head as he clutched the towel around himself. “I…I don’t know.” He sighed. “How did you find me?”

Scott shifted off his knees and sat on the carpet before Clay. “The storm woke me up. I thought I heard a transformer blow or something, then I found out there was no power. When I looked out the window, I just—saw you out there on the street. I almost didn’t believe it, at first.”

After falling silent for a moment, Scott pressed, “Do you not remember anything?”

Clay exhaled. “No, I…I don’t.”

“Was this like the other time, then? Do you remember? When me and Sheri—”

“Could I stay here, tonight?” Clay interjected. “I…I don’t—wanna be alone, right now.”

Slowly, Scott began to nod. “Yeah, you can, but come morning—”

“I’ll get back before sunrise,” Clay insisted. “Don’t, don’t worry.”

Scott shook his head. “That’s…that’s not what I’m worried about, Clay.”

~ ~ ~

When the PI left, Clay found himself at the table largely…unable to move. His mom had escorted Isabella out while his dad remained there at the table with him, Clay.

“This isn’t bad news, kiddo.”

Clay snorted a brief sigh. “It’s not good news, either.”

“It’s the first solid lead we’ve had,” his father countered. When Clay started to get up, his dad went on, “Hey, there’s something else we need to talk about.”

Turning to see his mom reappear before the dining room, Clay droned over his shoulder, “Like what?”

“Honey,” his mom said, “we let it lie for a day, but your dad and I both really feel—”

“My answer’s still the same!” Clay blurted, moving to step around his mother.

“Hey, hey!” his dad called, “don’t walk away from this!”

Clay came to a stop and turned back to see his dad stepping away from the dining table. “I can’t walk away from this,” Clay retorted, spreading his arms wide. “It follows me everywhere.”

“Then why not speak to someone who can help you?” his father exclaimed.

“Because it’s all gonna be a waste!” Clay snapped. “A waste of time, a waste of money; I don’t _need_ to feel better about all this. I just need Justin _back!”_

“Honey,” his mom said, taking a step towards him, Clay, “he _will_ be back, but sometimes we just need a little help to cope—there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah,” Clay scoffed, waving his hand dismissively as he spun towards the staircase, “like we really know, _for sure_ , Justin is coming back.” He began trudging up the stairs. “After all this time, I don’t know if we can really be sure of that, anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” his mom pleaded.

“Clay!” his dad called. “Clay!”

As he merely kept walking, Clay spotted not-Justin at the top of the steps in his school outfit and shaking his head.

“They’re just trying to help you, babe.”

Clay glared at him as he walked past not-Justin. “Fuck off,” he, Clay, grunted beneath his breath.

When he stepped into his room, he found not-Justin there leaning against the desk. Clay made straight for the bed, and let himself fall against it onto his stomach as he faced away from Justin.

“There’s no shame in getting help,” not-Justin said, “and no shame in admitting what you’re going through.”

Clay tried to ignore him; soon, however, his anger started to boil up from his stomach.

“You’re the one that fucking left me,” Clay sneered, _“again._ You don’t get to pretend to care about me.”

_“Clay,”_ Justin snapped, “of course I _fucking care!_ How could you even _say that?_ ”

“You left me,” Clay repeated, not moving.

“You _know_ I did that to protect you—to protect your mom, and your dad from—”

_“I_ could have _protected you!”_ Clay growled, spinning himself towards the desk to face Justin. _“I_ could have _saved you!”_

Justin slowly began shaking his head. “You know I’d never be able to live with myself…if anything happened to you—because of me.”

A boom of thunder sounded in the distance. _It’s going to rain…_

“And _you_ knew I wouldn’t be able to live without you,” Clay sighed, “but you still left me, anyway…”

His vision started to blur, and when he blinked, Justin was gone. As he, Clay, looked towards the window as it started to rain, immense grief began to suffocate him as he saw

_rain falling silently through the alleyway, a place where no one knows._

_Only the dumpster that collides against the raindrops, filled with trash, and discarded, unwanted remains_

_of the one that meant everything to him, shielded from the storm_

_lifeless, and in the dark…_

_it rains._


	11. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay turns to a last resort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the prior two chapters tie closely together, so it may be worth reading them over again.

“I got my free period right now. Don’t you have lunch, now, too?”

Sheri stands in the hallway before Clay, who shakes his head. “I’m…I’m okay. Really; thank you.”

“Yeah, I’m—not leaving you right now,” Sheri assured. “Let’s eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Clay insisted.

“Well, can we go to the study hall, then?”

Sheri’s question ended up being rhetorical as she prompted Clay along. He walked beside her towards the study hall, and they settled down at a free table.

“Sheri,” Clay said, “I’m—I’m fine; you don’t need to babysit me.”

Opening her backpack, and pulling out a binder, Sheri replied, “Well, you could help me with my French, then.”

When she smirked at him, Clay managed a brief laugh. “I…I just—got overwhelmed, that’s all.”

Sheri regarded him sympathetically. “You know how, after a workout, you have a cool-down period? I think there’s a similar rule for panic attacks.”

Clay smiled. “That’s—probably true.”

“Is the anxiety about Justin really getting to you, now?”

Taking a moment, Clay gradually nodded. “Yeah, I—I guess it is.”

Sheri sat back in her chair. “What is anxiety like? I mean, _capital-A_ Anxiety.”

Clay inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I guess it’s like…worrying about stupid shit—all the time; stuff that doesn’t really make sense. You hear these clichés about, like, thinking you left the stove on, and whatever—but it really is that irrational sometimes.

“I used to worry that I’d forgotten to put on underwear for the day. Back when I got my new laptop, I worried that my hard drive might crash—since the old one, did. When my parents would drive me places, I used to worry a dog would run out in front of the car; when I started riding my bike, I used to worry that I’d need to pump my tires every time because they would deflate between rides.”

Sheri shook her head. “Those don’t sound so irrational to me.”

“Well, objectively, they are,” Clay said, “if you consider the statistical likelihood of those events, which I used to try to do to, I guess, combat those feelings.”

He shrugged. “But it’s not always that easy,” Clay went on. “Sometimes I just…have this feeling that I’m forgetting something—or something’s about to happen. It’s been a while since…since these kinds of feelings have affected me—physically.”

Clay cleared his throat, and shifted in his seat. “Think of it like this: you’re walking around the whole day with a knife sticking in your side. You feel it there, but you have to act and pretend like it’s not there; and, of course, there is no knife.”

Sheri sat forward towards the table. “Has Justin been preventing your anxiety, or masking it?”

“He’s definitely helped it,” Clay answered. “He’s definitely helped me. Being without him, like this…it’s hard; it sucks.”

“Have you thought about seeing anybody about this?”

Sighing, Clay shook his head. “It won’t help; there’s a very obvious reason why I’m this way, right now—and there’s only one thing that’ll make it better.”

He stood up from the table. “I’m…feeling kind of hungry, now. I think I’ll head to lunch.” Clay held up a hand as Sheri moved to pack up her things. “I’m okay, really. I can make it there on my own.”

Offering a flat smile, Sheri nodded. “Okay; I’ll see you.”

“See ya.”

Clay swung his book bag over his shoulder and went on back towards the cafeteria.

~ ~ ~

_Why do I feel like that was a waste of time?_

Clay was rattling his fingertips against his thigh as Tony pulled back onto the highway.

_Well, because you always worry too much, Clay, but at least we know there isn’t anything treacherous there waiting for us._

_For now. I sure hope Caleb and Justin are having better luck._

Pulling into Zach’s driveway, Clay parked behind the Audi.

_Zach texted you?_

_Yeah, I’m gonna go meet him._

_He said he had it?_

_No, but it should be something, at least._

As Clay got out of the car, Zach stepped outside from the front door. He had a binder in his hand as he walked up to Clay.

“My sister is home,” Dempsey uttered, handing over the binder, “so she will eavesdrop on everything we say.”

“Right,” Clay acknowledged, accepting the binder.

“It’s only fifteen,” Zach went on, “so I really, really do think you should reconsider what we talked about at lunch. I’ll text you.”

Clay remained stoic. “Thank you, Zach—really.”

Dempsey gave a curt nod, then turned to go back inside the house. Clay got back into the car and slipped the binder in his backpack before pulling out of the driveway. As he drove, he rang Tony.

“Hey,” Clay said.

“So?” Tony prompted.

Clay let out a heavy sigh. “I…I gotta make another stop.”

~ ~ ~

Coming to a stop at the intersection, Clay gazed up at the hill before him through the windshield. With no one behind him, he had a little bit of time to really vet his next move. _Am I really gonna do this?_

Zach had texted him shortly after he, Clay, had driven away. _Chatham house. Manor Ridge. He lives w/ his mom now_

Clay let his foot off the brake and pressed on the gas pedal to proceed through the intersection. If he didn’t do this…they wouldn’t even have half.

He came to a stop before the house at the top of the hill; or rather, the _estate_. Clay gazed up across the large property; _yeah, this is it._ Even though it might not have been as vast or as secluded as the real estate off of Vaughn’s Hill, the place still screamed _well-to-do_ with its carefully trimmed landscaping and adjoining guest house _._

And the Jeep he was looking for was parked up the driveway.

Clay stepped out of the car and made for the front door. Steeling himself, he rang the doorbell; moments later, the door slowly opened to reveal the last person he, Clay, had wanted to see.

Bryce.

The _ass_ appeared casually amused, barely suppressing a smirk. “This is a surprise,” he remarked. “How’d you know where I live?”

Clay stared back at Bryce. “Can I come in?”

Sobering his expression, Bryce gave a slight shrug. “That depends; you should know—I don’t deal anymore.”

Rage burst up through his chest, but Clay merely swallowed, and said nothing. Bryce gave a slight roll of the eyes before taking a step back and gesturing to come in the house. Clay stepped inside, and Bryce shut the door behind him before making for the living room.

“What can I do for you, Clay?” Bryce said as he came to a stop before one of the couches and leaning against it.

Clay crossed his arms. “How much do you know about Seth Massey?”

Scoffing, Bryce uttered, “A cave-dweller, in my book. Why? Has he resurfaced?”

Clay sighed. “Something like that.” He went on to explain what had happened at school, and what Justin had told him.

Bryce whistled. “That’s quite the escalation, though I’m not surprised. What surprises me, though, is that Amber wasn’t better at covering her tracks.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, after all this time,” Bryce clarified, “I was almost thinking she finally got away.” He shrugged. “But, I guess, if the druggie-dependent version of her slipped up, she wouldn’t be hard to track.”

He gave Clay a slight nod. “So…how much does he want?”

Clay cleared his throat. “I only need a thousand, that’s it.”

Bryce burst out with a laugh before attempting to restrain himself. He shook his head and rubbed his face as he let out, “Jesus, Clay, you’re gonna come to me for a thousand dollars, okay…” He giggled.

“I will pay you back,” Clay insisted, “with interest.”

Grinning, and shaking his head as he looked back up at Clay, Bryce scoffed, “You think a thousand dollars is even a drop in the bucket compared to what I’ve put up for Justin over the years?”

“This isn’t for Justin,” Clay snapped, “this is for _me.”_

Bryce snorted. “And why would I give _you_ a thousand dollars, Clay?”

“You know what?” Clay blurted. “Never mind. Forget I asked.” He turned towards the door.

“Clay,” Bryce called, “stop.” Reluctantly, he, Clay, obeyed; Bryce went on, enunciating, “How much—did he ask for?”

Turning around, Clay took a few steps back towards the living room and met Bryce’s gaze. “Ten grand,” he replied.

“All right, that’s more like it,” Bryce said with a nod as he stood up straight off the couch.

“I’m only four thousand short,” Clay said, which made Bryce laugh.

“So you were planning on short-paying Seth, anyway?” He chuckled to himself. “A thousand dollars,” he uttered beneath his breath.

Bryce then waved him off. “Look, give me around an hour, then meet me back here.”

Clay regarded him, skeptical. “Just like that; _really?”_

Bryce shrugged. “You know, if you knew me any better, you’d know that Justin would never have to ask.”

“You don’t contact him about this,” Clay spat. “You don’t say anything about this to him.”

Waving his hands apart, Bryce nodded. “I get it, I get it; you’re his protector, now.” He gave a brief, flat smile. “Let this be your next lesson though—if you haven’t already learned this, by now: looking after Justin…isn’t always so easy.”

_Fuck. You. Asshole._ Clay nearly bit his tongue. He said, instead, “I will pay—you—back. Justin doesn’t owe you anything.”

Bryce shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t need a payment plan from you, Jensen. This is just the excuse I need as one last fuck you to my dad, anyway, so…if you think I’m getting something out of this, too—you’re right.”

He saw Clay to the door, and once Clay was back inside his car, he leaned back against the seat and took a long, deep breath as he tasted blood on his tongue.

_Please forgive me, Justin; please don’t hold this against me…_

~ ~ ~

Clay was in earshot of the cafeteria; he could hear the rumblings of conversation as he approached.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

Feeling his heart rate pick up, Clay slowed as the noises grew louder, then kept straight instead of turning the corner.

He kept going…before finding himself in the science wing, and in front of one of the chemistry labs—seemingly empty. After peering through the window to be sure, Clay opened the door and shut it behind him. He then walked to one of the benches near the back and knelt beneath it as he pulled off his book bag—spinning it around to hold onto as he sat down on the floor and crossed his legs together.

Clay clutched the bag against his chest, staring past it as it lay in his lap.

~ ~ ~

_This is the full amount._

_Yeah—what did you think I was gonna get?_

_I said I only needed four._

_Look, pay Zach back, and whoever else you managed to scrounge money from. Make things easy on yourself, for once, Clay._

As Clay sat in the passenger seat, he found himself twiddling with the strap of his backpack between his legs. Tony drove, saying virtually nothing after leaving Bryce’s.

Clay looked over at his best friend. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Tony glanced back at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“The fact that you’re not saying anything—says it all.”

Sighing, Tony let out, “I don’t disagree with taking Bryce’s money—we’re desperate, here—but I don’t get why you just didn’t come clean to Justin when he—literally—guessed it.”

Clay sighed with him. “Justin has been relying on Bryce for most of his life. I can’t have him thinking that…he still has to; that he’s still dependent on him—not after everything that’s happened.”

“You really think Bryce’ll keep this to himself?”

“They haven’t been in contact.”

His friend chuckled. “You still checking his phone?”

_“No,”_ Clay insisted. “He knows my passcode, too. Anyway, I’d be able to tell if he had, now; he’d come to me about it.”

When Tony didn’t say anything, Clay added, “I’ll tell him about this later, when we’re through all of this.”

They arrived at Caleb’s gym soon after. After walking inside, Caleb was in the boxing ring waiting for them.

“You guys are back quick,” he remarked.

Clay set his backpack down and took off his hoodie as Tony took off his jacket. “It was a quick turnover,” Tony said.

“So he had it,” Caleb inquired, “all of it.”

“Yeah,” Clay responded, approaching the ring, “he did.”

Caleb shook his head. “So, do we—still need to do this?”

Tony handed Clay hand wraps, and they started wrapping their hands.

“I want to leave as little to chance as possible,” Clay said, and Tony patted his shoulder.

“We got this,” Tony assured.

They stepped inside the ring, and Caleb presented the boxing pads to Tony as Clay practiced getting into his stance.

“All right,” Caleb said towards Clay as Tony put on the pads, “warm ups—just like we practiced.”

Tony smiled at Clay. “Not that you need it right now, but if you feel yourself losing steam, try to think about that time I tied your shoelaces together in Ms. Abbot’s class.”

Clay grinned. “Asshole.” He raised his fists when Tony held up the pads, then started to strike them in the warmup pattern Caleb had shown him.

“Tony tells me you don’t vent enough,” Caleb added. “It’s all about a controlled release; an explosion of force doesn’t do you any good, ‘cause if you let it out all at once, you’re spent.”

Gradually, Clay hit with more and more force. Tony was always a good mirror for him, and always able to match his speed. As he began to sweat, Clay shut off his mind, and let his fists do the thinking for him.

Caleb soon called the warmup, then started to run through the self-defense movements with Clay. They felt familiar enough, since Tony had already practiced them with him.

“You haven’t forgotten,” Caleb remarked.

“That was a long month,” Clay said; _when Justin was away._

Caleb rehearsed several times with Clay on top of the extra mats he’d set out before switching places. Clay ran through the movements again with Caleb as Tony observed, and critiqued.

“All right,” Caleb announced, “at speed, now. Ready?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, which was Clay’s undoing as he found himself on the mat.

_Shit._

“Ow,” Clay grunted, sardonic.

Caleb offered him a hand, then pulled him back up. This time, Caleb simply made a move for him again a split second after Clay was on his feet—and it was Caleb, this time, who wound up on the mat with an _oof._

Clay let go of him, trying not to smile. “Excellent,” Caleb remarked, “Tony _has_ taught you well.”

“I learned from the best,” Tony offered as Clay helped Caleb back to his feet.

“Next,” Caleb said, “disarming.” Tony presented the toy water gun to him. Caleb looked between Clay and Tony. “You sure we—really need to do this?”

“I wanna at least try it,” Clay said.

“But the plan,” Tony insisted, eyeing Clay, “if he pulls a gun—we drop the fucking money and run. Understood?”

Clay nodded. “Understood.”

They said it, but Clay knew—if the situation presented itself—they might still try it; it would all depend on who had the better position, _even if it might be folly._

_Don’t let it come to that,_ Clay pleaded to whatever silent power might listen. _Trust, but verify; hope for the best, plan for the worst._

They had to leave as little to chance as possible.

~ ~ ~

Clay is sitting on the grass; he can’t remember the last time he’s been outside like this—just to be outside. The lawn is thick, and as he runs his hand through the grass, he feels it prickle his palm.

He hears barking in the distance. When Clay stands, he can’t tell where it’s coming from.

He’s down the sidewalk, and he’s slow to move; his feet are heavy. The barking continues…until he hears a jingling of a collar behind him, and he turns around.

_“Lucy?”_

Clay swells with relief as he kneels to greet her; he can’t believe it’s her. She leaps into his lap excitedly, panting happily as she licks his cheeks. He laughs as she doesn’t keep still; her tail wags like a blur.

He realizes, however, he’s stuck; he can’t move. Suddenly, there are ropes around him—straps—as Lucy barks maddeningly. Clay turns to see the headlights veering towards them—

_NO!_

Clay flails against the covers—but he’s still trapped; he still can’t move. He cries out again, _No, no, no!_ as he tries to break free…only to hear his name, and then a brief, high-pitched squeal; a zipper.

“Clay, Clay!”

Scott catches him as he, Clay, springs from the bag and tries to catch his breath. As he took in the darkness around him, he remembered where he was.

“Okay, hindsight,” Scott uttered, “maybe the sleeping bag wasn’t such a good idea.”

Clay let go of him, then inhaled a long breath. “Shit,” he sighed, “I’m—I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, hey,” Scott shushed, “don’t worry about it.” When Clay let himself plop back onto the floor, the guy went on, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clay replied, nodding rapidly, “I’m okay.”

Scott gazed at him as the moonlight illuminated the room. “Was this why you…didn’t want to be alone?” He cleared his throat. “The dreams?”

Clay sighed, and averted his gaze towards the window. “It’ll be dawn, soon,” he said, rising slowly. “I, I should be getting back.”

Rising with him, Scott said, “Let me drop you off.”

“No,” Clay insisted, “I’ll—I’ll be fine. I can walk.”

After a moment, Scott offered, “Lemme walk with you, then, at least?” He smiled. “I could use the practice with my window protocol.”

At that, Clay gently laughed. “Sure, then, I guess.”

Scott lent him a pair of slides before slipping on his own sneakers and following Clay through the window; they didn’t have a drop at all since Scott’s house was only a single story. As they walked together through the neighborhood, Clay couldn’t think of anything to say, and Scott didn’t offer to make any conversation, either. By the time they reached Clay’s house, they ended up saying nothing at all.

Clay gazed up at his open window for a moment before slipping off and handing Scott back the slides. “Thanks again,” he uttered.

Reluctantly, Scott accepted them. “You…able to get up there—without these?”

“Don’t worry,” Clay said, making for the porch, “I can get up and down from there in my sleep.” He hopped up on the porch railing, then hauled himself up onto the portico. When he reached his window, he looked back down towards Scott, and spread his arms apart in a shrug. “See?”

Giving a weak smile in return, Scott gave a few nods before slowly turning and walking away.

Clay stepped back inside his room, then shut the window. He turned to see Justin—not-Justin—on the couch in his pajamas; he was shaking his head.

“What’s it gonna take, Jensen?”

Ignoring him, Clay turned towards the bed—only to find not-Justin against the wall by the nightstand, his arms crossed.

“You were lucky this time,” Justin went on.

Clay threw himself into bed and buried his face into his pillow. “Leave me alone,” he pleaded.

“Don’t get up on that fucking bridge again—unless you really plan to jump, this time.”

“What?” Clay said, looking towards the wall.

Justin was gone.

~ ~ ~

The view is vast…breathtaking…

Perspective and scale are necessary constraints, crucial to understanding the patterns that emerge from the electrons that circle a nucleus to planets that circle a sun. Perspective makes curves straight and lines curve. Scale separates the forest from the trees, and blades of grass from fields.

The water appears to run a short distance, even though it reaches the horizon…and the horizon can never be reached. Being down there would shift perspectives greatly…

A pool, and an ocean; superficially similar, and wildly different…even at the bottom of a bathtub full of water…

Death can come in even just a few gallons of water. A glass of water, to a Great Lake…

Is time always linear? Does it only move in one direction? Perspective shapes the possibilities, while scale eliminates meaning…

Air, oxygen, and water—the separation of a single element; take away a carbon molecule, and you have a poison. Take a step, and you have a titanic shift…

Flight is simply a controlled fall, a constant negotiation with gravity. All elements seek to return to their lowest state of energy, as those that come up—must come down…

All that goes up…

_Must come down._

_We all fall down…_


End file.
